by Sarah Hegger
Garrett lowered her to the soft piles of wool.
She met the bold thrust of his tongue with hers. She loved him and she poured her love into her kiss. For now, he was hers and she was greedy to have it all. Her hands dove beneath his tunic. His skin was hot against her palms. Hot and smooth over the strength of his muscle. She spread her fingers wide to imprint the feel of him on her hands.
His broke the kiss to rip his tunic over his head.
He was beautiful. Shades of darkness outlined the ridges and the hollows of his body. He was different from her, big and male. Her beautiful, strong man. Hers. The knowledge was heady, better than anything. Impatiently, she pulled his head closer. Fastening her mouth over his, losing herself in the taste and feel of his mouth.
She arched her back into his strength. Her breasts against his chest. He was hard where she was soft, ridged where she was hollow.
His hands slipped over her rib cage, seeking her breasts.
She murmured her encouragement. His hands on her made her cry out with pleasure. The sensation shot straight from her rigid nipples to her core.
He pulled his mouth from hers to place it where his hands had been, dampening the fabric of her bliaut with his tongue until it clung to her breasts and she felt the heat of his mouth.
It was not enough. Not nearly. She writhed beneath him as his mouth continued to torment her through the cloth.
She pushed him up. The fabric between them had to go. She tore at the ties of her bliaut.
Garrett sat back on his heels and watched as she tugged it over her head.
Her chainse followed. The air was cool against her naked skin, his eyes flaming. She leant back on her hands, letting him look his full.
“Sweet Jesu, but you are beautiful.”
She felt it, with his gaze powerful on her body. “Touch me, Garrett.”
He reached for her with hard hands. His bare chest against her breasts made her whimper. Her skin was alive with thousands of prickling points, all demanding attention. It became more than want. She needed him. Boldly, she cupped his buttocks in her hands and pressed him closer to her heat. She loved the sensation, and she did it again.
“Beatrice.” He tore his mouth away. “You are going to kill me if you carry on.”
The power she held tingled through her muscles. She laughed and slid her leg between his. He was hard against her thigh. He’d done these wicked things to her and she delighted in doing them back to him.
He trembled against her. She made this strong man shake. It made her bolder.
“Nay.” He caught her hands. “We need to go slower.” He reared back and sat on his heels, breathing hard as he stared at her.
She didn’t want to go slow. “Why?”
“You are a maid, sweeting. I do not want to hurt you.”
“I am well, Garrett.” Impatience had her reaching for him. She wanted all of him and she wanted it now.
He raised her hands over her head and stretched above her.
She couldn’t touch him if he held her hands. She moaned her protest and tried to work her hands free. His control irked her, ran contrary to her desire.
He tightened his grip on her wrists. “For the love of God, Beatrice. Will you please let me lead?”
“Aye, Garrett. But make haste. Or I am going to crawl out of my skin if you do not do something. Now.”
He closed his eyes. “And try not to speak.” He lowered his face to her neck. “You are only making this harder.”
“This?” She nudged his hardness with her thigh.
“Aye, that as well.”
She giggled and did it again.
He nipped her ear, then soothed the small hurt by sucking on the spot. “I have spent nights imagining this, and I will not be rushed.” Hot, sucking kisses trailed her neck to her shoulder.
She delighted in the heat of his mouth. She wanted to show him how much. Beatrice writhed, but he still held her wrists in one of his large hands.
He moved down her chest to the tips of her breasts. He blew hot air against her nipples.
“Garrett.” She bowed her back for more. This was better.
He obliged her by taking her nipple and sucking it deep within the heated cavern of his mouth. “Do you like that, sweeting?”
“Aye,” Beatrice sighed, “more.”
He laughed and moved his attention to the other breast.
Beatrice twisted beneath him, trying to free her hands, but he kept them fast. This was lovely, it was wondrous, but she wanted everything. She remembered her glorious release in the forest and she wanted it. Her hips bucked beneath him, grinding against his hard shaft.
He confounded her by shifting to the side. “Patience.”
“Nay.” Beatrice mewled her protest. She had no patience left. Every part of her demanded that he get on with satisfying her need.
His hand slid down her ribs toward her hip. His mouth continued to pay homage to her breasts as his hand nudged between her thighs.
Beatrice opened for his touch, eager to feel him where she ached the most.
Still, he tortured her, learning her body by feel as he caressed her hip, the top of her thigh, ran his fingers over her inner thigh.
So close and not nearly close enough. Beatrice growled and shifted her hips toward his hand.
And, finally, he slid his fingers over her swollen flesh. Aye. Beatrice cried out at the touch.
“Jesu, Beatrice, you are almost ready for me.” He abandoned her breasts to kiss her.
Finally, he released her wrists and Beatrice dug her hands in his hair. She held him fast and kissed him.
He met her passion.
Beatrice let the wildness grow within her.
His fingers caressed the pulsing nubbin between her curls before sliding into the core of her.
Her thighs opened wider in silent invitation and Garrett eased between them. He took one of her hands and pressed it against his shaft.
Beatrice curved her fingers around his hardness. A twinge of trepidation pierced her abandon. He seemed overly large for her.
Garrett wriggled out of his chausses and she touched his naked flesh. He was steel and silk in her hand. Beatrice tightened her grip.
“Like this.” He guided her movement over him with his hand. Cursing softly as she stroked him. He moaned and dropped his head back. Beatrice grew bolder with her touch. She wanted to do to him what he did to her.
“Enough.” He kissed her palm. “No more, or this will end now.”
He sat up and Beatrice drank in the sight of him. His shaft stood rigid from the apex of his thighs. He was a beautiful man. She wanted him to be hers and to make her his.
Slowly, Garrett widened her thighs with his hands. He looked at her. His eyes glowed hot.
She was momentarily embarrassed to be totally exposed to his gaze.
“Perfect.” He caressed her, watching the move of his fingers on her with hooded eyes. His finger dipped inside her.
Beatrice dropped back onto the wool as he continued to touch her. He stroked the sweet spot with his thumb and any shyness was forgotten.
“I want to put my mouth on you,” he said. “I need to taste you.”
Shock and excitement bolted through Beatrice. She hadn’t imagined such a thing.
Then, his mouth was on her and she cried out. His tongue was hot and silky on her.
“Garrett.” She bucked against his mouth. It was beyond anything he’d done before. Sweet Lord, but she would surely come apart if he kept doing that.
He purred as he continued to lave.
Beatrice gripped his hair, an anchor in her careening world. He sucked on the place his fingers had found and Beatrice shattered. She went rigid and arched hard against his mouth before collapsing, spent, against the wool.
He crawled up her pliant body until he hovered above her. “Now, you are ready for me.” He kissed her.
She tasted her woman’s tast
e against his lips. It was strange, but not unpleasant.
His shaft was rigid on her thigh. He slid over her slowly.
Beatrice’s body awoke to this new possibility.
He reached down and guided himself inside her.
Beatrice stiffened at the invasion. The haze of pleasure surrounding her faded. She didn’t think she could stretch to accommodate him.
“Trust me,” he whispered against her mouth, pressing forward.
“I am not sure.” Beatrice blinked up at him, she did trust him, but he was large against her.
“This will hurt at first.” He thrust his hips forward.
It did hurt and Beatrice tensed. “I do not think I like this.”
He stilled, framing her face with his hands. “Look at me, Beatrice.” He placed a soft kiss against her lips.
Beatrice looked at him.
“I love you.” He dropped gentle kisses to her lips and jaw, the tip of her nose.
The burning sensation between her legs eased slightly and some of the tension left her.
“Just like that. Be easy and trust me.” He inched farther inside her.
It hurt. “Stop.”
Garrett stopped and placed his forehead against hers and screwed his eyes shut. His mouth was moving.
“Are you praying?”
“Aye, I am praying for the strength to live through this.”
“Does it hurt you, too?”
He laughed, shaking against her. “Only you.” He kissed her. “Only you could make me laugh at a time like this.”
Beatrice experienced the tremor of his laughter all the way to the place where he joined with her. A much more pleasant sensation took the place of the uncomfortable stretching. Yet, it felt incomplete.
“Garrett?”
“Mmm?”
“It does not hurt anymore.”
With a soft moan he flexed his hips.
Beatrice noticed a brief smarting as her maidenhead gave way, but it was over quickly and he was sheathed inside her.
Garrett stilled.
Her body cleaved to his and she grew accustomed to the feel of him within her. Still, she felt slightly cheated. She moved her legs and discovered if she raised her knees it brought him deeper inside her.
He caught his breath.
“Garrett?”
He raised his head to look at her.
“I feel sure there is more to it than this.”
His eyes smoldered down at her. Perspiration beaded his forehead. The hunger in his expression called to something within her, a craving only he could appease.
There was much more to it and Garrett showed her, moving slowly at first, letting Beatrice set the pace, then faster as need took over.
She met his thrusts, tilting her hips to take him deeper. A sensation started where they were joined and spread through her middle. It built until Beatrice couldn’t contain it any longer. Harsh gasps and pants broke from her lips as she blindly sought her fulfillment. The end came fast and tossed her straight into a glorious release.
In the aftermath, Beatrice lay sated and replete beneath him. She listened to the sound of their breathing as it returned to normal, felt to the slow pulse of his heart against her as it grew calmer.
He eased away from her.
Beatrice shivered without the warmth of his body.
He rolled onto his back and pulled her tight against him.
Her head found a perfect hollow against his shoulder and her legs twined with his.
“Beatrice?”
“Aye.”
“I love you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Whatever occurs in the days to come, remember I love you.”
Chapter 21
“Wake up.”
Garrett’s tensed. A man’s voice woke him, smooth and refined. Beatrice was curled at his side, so vulnerable and trusting.
“Get up, or I will cut you from gut to gullet.”
A stinging pain pierced his neck and he opened his eyes. A length of steel rested against his throat. He traced it to the gauntlet, over the mailed arm, and looked into those eyes. Light eyes, some shade between brown and green. The man titled his head and smirked, his teeth white in his dark beard.
God’s wounds. The whoreson had caught him unawares, for a second time.
Beatrice murmured in her sleep.
The sod’s gaze drifted to her and went frigid.
Fear tasted like steel in his mouth. Garrett would die before he let the sod lay a hand on her.
“I said, get up.”
“Move your sword.”
The sword eased enough for Garrett to move. He turned to Beatrice and arranged her cloak over her nakedness.
The intruder had brought company again. He tucked Beatrice’s leg away from view. A pair of ruffians flanked the door. Garrett recognized the same two as the last time.
Jesu. What were they doing here? And what in the name of God could they want?
He reached for his chausses and tugged them on. This time, he wouldn’t face them with his tackle hanging out.
The stranger watched him, his sword far enough from Garrett to allow movement.
His face was pretty as a girl, but he held the sword like he knew what to do with it. The idea of that sharp steel anywhere near Beatrice terrified him. His hands shook as he tied his chausses.
“Over there.” The stranger jerked his head.
Not on your sodding life. He wouldn’t leave Beatrice within reach. His only chance of protecting Beatrice was to stand between her and the sword. “I will remain by my wife.”
She stirred and her eyes fluttered open.
“We both know she is not your wife.” The stranger’s lip curled contemptuously.
“Godfrey?” Beatrice’s voice was rough with sleep. Confusion and horror crossed her face as she blinked at the stranger.
Had she called him by name?
“Beatrice.” The stranger clucked his tongue. “What would your mother say?” He shook his head at her.
Beatrice paled and dropped her eyes away from the stranger. Her hands tightened against the fabric of her cloak as she tried to hide her nakedness.
Garrett moved to shield her with his body.
The sword hissed through the air and stopped at his neck. “Do not touch her.” The stranger’s voice dripped with menace. “Or should I say, do not touch her again?”
“Nay, Godfrey.” Beatrice scrambled to her knees.
Garrett studied the man’s features. Christ on the cross. He saw it now, the similarity in the shape and of their eyes. The same clean construction of their faces.
“Who is he?” He dropped his eyes to Beatrice.
“My uncle.” Her head hung and her hair concealed her face from him, but he heard the misery in her tone.
Her shame cut through him far keener than any blade. “Beatrice is not at fault.”
“I am aware of that,” her uncle said. “Get dressed, Beatrice.”
Beatrice’s raised her head.
Garrett was glad to see her stubborn little chin come up. That’s my girl, sweet to the core with a backbone of hardened steel.
“Not before them.” She indicated the hulking figures by the door. “Make them leave.”
“Modesty, Beatrice?” Godfrey raised one brow. “At this time?”
* * * *
Shame hardened to anger within her. As if her uncle was without sin. She knew such not to be the case. His face had always made him a favorite with the women of Anglesea when he visited.
“Do not be an ass, Godfrey.” Her uncle still held his sword to Garrett’s throat. She glared at the men by the door. “Wait outside.”
The men shifted.
“Do it,” Godfrey called over his shoulder.
The men slipped out the door and shut it behind them. The thump resounded in the silence within.
“And you.” Beatrice motioned her uncle to turn his back. “Drop your sw
ord.”
“You have grown a spine, niece.” He rubbed his cheek with a long, elegant finger. “What a pity you had not grown some sense with it.”
The insult stung. “I—”
“Spare me.” Godfrey motioned Garrett with his sword. “I will not make the mistake of turning my back on you. Over there.”
Godfrey gave her his back. He kept the tip of the sword pressed to Garrett’s neck. Blast. She would have to sneak across the length of the shed to surprise him.
“I underestimated you before.” Godfrey spoke to Garrett.
Godfrey knew Garrett? She frowned over this as she wriggled into her chainse. Snatching up her bliaut, she pulled it over her head and began lacing it at the sides. Her heart thundered in her chest. There was no need to protest her innocence. Thank God, it was not one of her brother’s that had discovered them. Godfrey was a reasonable man. Once she explained, he would let Garrett go. “There is no need for this.”
Decently attired she approached the men. Her hair was a snarled mess from where Garrett had run his hands through it. She didn’t care, though. At this moment, it was more important to get Godfrey’s blade from Garrett’s neck. It was very well for Godfrey to be defending her virtue, but they were all aware the horse had already bolted.
“I am sorry to be disobliging, Beatrice.” Godfrey smiled down the length of his blade at Garrett.
Unease prickled across her nape. Something was amiss with this situation, other than the three feet of steel threatening Garrett’s life. That was her first priority.
Garrett was rigid, his face a cold mask.
“There is every need, I am afraid,” Godfrey said. “As you have, no doubt guessed, your friend and I have met before.”
“Garrett?” Beatrice frowned from her uncle to Garrett.
“I did not know he was your uncle.” Garrett’s hands clenched and unclenched by his sides.
The air between the two men tasted thick with secrets.
“Put the sword down, Godfrey.” Always secrets and veiled truths and she’d had enough.
Godfrey smirked at Garrett. “I did not think you would manage it.”
“Manage what?” It was as if they were having cake and ales together, her uncle sounded so normal.
“That is not how it is.” Garrett shifted.
