by Wend Petzler
"Brandon, send men to retrieve the dead and post archers at the outer wall. Close the gate there until we know we have killed or captured all who dared attack us today."
"Yea, my lord.” Brandon hurried to attend to Drago's orders.
Placing his arm around Isabella's neck, he tucked her close against his side. It was then he noticed the banners flying high above the wall—his, the red Dragon upon a black silk background and hers, a black, screaming she-demon with silver hair upon a red silk background. He could not help his widening smile, beginning to think they made one hell of a team.
Isabella trembled, her body aflame from wanting Drago. Never one to sit on a problem for long, she took matters in hands. “Come Drago, you need a bath and breakfast will be served in an hour."
Michael tossed the ugly helm to one of his men and grabbed his horse's reins from his squire. Swinging up onto the prancing warhorse, he faced Gabriel when he rode up to him. “Much trouble?"
Gabriel smiled, unaffected by the ambush. “The usual. Did the enemy get a good look at the Demon Lord?"
"It worked for now, but we need to speak to Isabella."
"Yea, we must, after we clean up the forest of the rabble hiding there.” Slamming down his visor, he shouted to his men and rode out the side gate, followed by Michael and the Demons, all determined to eliminate McLeod and his men for good.
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Chapter Eight
Crystal blue eyes flashed with rage. Thwarted again! Secure in the knowledge he was safe in the forest, hidden from his enemy, Alden sat his horse, wondering what in the hell had gone wrong this time. His spy had informed him the Demon Lord was gone. Then who the hell walked the ramparts? His bodyguards watched the approaching Scots warily, not trusting the sullen glares cast in their lord's direction. A savage-looking, stocky man rode up beside Alden.
William McLeod glared maliciously at him. “Ye said the Demon Lord gone and the castle easy pickings when Drago was dead. Well, the mon is still alive and the blasted devil in black is still in charge!” He spat on the ground, furious at the loss of men he suffered, and here they had to tuck their tails between their legs, running once more. William had a personal score to settle with the Demon Lord, but he wouldna tempt fate a second time. All of Alden's gold wouldna get him to tackle both champions, at least not in the open again.
"My spy was mistaken. We need a new plan.” Alden barely managed to keep the disdain out of his voice. His white-blonde hair was immaculately groomed, his tailored clothes spotless and elegant, a shocking contrast to the feral men he enlisted to bring Blood Keep down.
McLeod's hostile gaze searched the thick forest and a plan unfolded in his crafty mind, his shifty eyes calculating as he stared at the dark, forbidding castle. “I just might have a plan, but later. We need to get to our side of the border before the Demons are unleashed to hunt us down.” Urging his horse forward, William knew how to draw the Demon Lord from his castle. Bait was needed, and he knew just who to use.
Alden rode after William. Each would have his revenge. The taste would be made sweet for he planned to punish Isabella properly for marrying another man, cheating him of his inheritance—again.
Isabella, you will be mine, he swore. Mine!
* * * *
Upon entering the Lord's chambers, Isabella was surprised to see Aggie had already prepared the sunken pool for a bath. She curtsied, winking at the couple before scurrying out of the chamber. Isabella was about to speak when the door opened, admitting Ahmed and a young man who in short time stripped Nicolas of his armor. They quickly exited the chamber, too. Isabella and Nicolas stared at each other, wishing to speak words needing be said but afraid to say them.
"You should bathe first.” Isabella nervously sat on the bed, removing her boots. Rising, she slipped her pants off, then the leather tunic, leaving on the black linen shirt for modesty. She glanced nervously at Nicolas who drew his own shirt off. Hot amber eyes held her captive. He stalked her, reaching for her, enclosing her within the warmth of his hungry embrace.
Lean fingers slid down the curves of her thighs, feeling for the hem of her linen shirt, drawing the material upward. The velvety pads of his palms glided up her ribs as he removed the garment. Nicolas stared down at her, fascinated by the bounty exposed to his perusal. Breasts, firm and proud, begged for his touch. Towering over Isabella, he bent to kiss her when she pulled away and out of his arms. Her chin rose proudly. However, fear shone in her eyes, startling him. Then it dawned on him, she was waiting for him to look at her, really look at her.
His hot gaze swept over her perfect breasts, wandering down her lithe body. Her belly was flat, muscles taunt not soft like most women. A narrow waist flared to rounded hips. Her legs were smoothly muscled and straight. Isabella was not petite or slender. She was strong and proud, her shoulders square and broader than any woman he'd ever known. Silver scars marred her arms and stomach, some slight, others had the look of being made by a sword. Stunned by the revelation, Nicolas watched her turn around and saw the red marks marring the smooth, golden flesh along her sleek back, mingling with older scars. Sickened, he realized she had suffered the whip before. Who had dared touch her with Otto by her side? Her father perhaps? Reeling, he faced the hard truth of why Isabella wore men's clothes, why she refused to be soft. To be a woman meant she was vulnerable, easy prey to abuse.
Tears blurred her vision as hatred hardened his handsome face. Isabella struggled not to cry, resigned to her fate. She reached for a sheet to cover herself. “I understand if my ugliness offends you. But, I can honestly say I did not earn such punishment.” Isabella's voice trembled as she sought to be brave in front of her husband's obvious rejection.
His hand flew to halt hers from grabbing the sheet. Shaken to his very core by her hoarsely whispered words, filled with such resigned pain, he reached behind her legs and picked her up. “Never think I am ashamed of you. I see scars won in battle against a cruel and evil man. I am honored to be your husband,” he whispered against her hair, crushing her to him, afraid if he let Isabella go she would flee him and their truce lost forever.
Leaning back, searching his face, hot tears coursed down her cheeks. “Truly, you don't think I am repulsive?"
Laughing, Nicolas swung her around till she begged him to stop. “You are magnificent!"
His hard mouth captured hers, kissing her until she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling lightheaded. Desperate to experience the incredible pleasure of his sweet, hot touch again, her body aflame, Isabella's voice was smoky when she whispered, “Nicolas, make love to me."
His heart skipped a beat. Soft as a caress, Isabella had said his name at last. The way she said it made his heart clench. The innocence, the uncertainty, in her eyes made him weak in the knees. She trusted him. Nicolas laid her on the mattress before stepping back to slip his pants off, standing in all his naked glory before her. Amber eyes burning dark with intensity, he placed one knee then the other on the bed, stretching out on his side next to her.
Unafraid, she watched her husband, breathless. His large hand rested on her stomach as his dark head bent over her breast and tenderly licked the hardening bud, teasing her until she arched upward, demanding his mouth's full attention. Nicolas wickedly complied by taking the sensitive nipple deep in his mouth, suckling hard. Her fingers curled in his long hair, she cried out at the intense pleasure.
Nicolas grinned at her eager response. Leaning over her, he pushed her legs apart with his knee while his mouth lavished attention on the other nipple. His shaft swelled harder, his body heavy with the need to bury himself deep inside Isabella's wet tightness. Throwing her head back, she gasped in sweet agony as his hot, heavenly mouth paved a wet path along her stomach, tenderly tracing her scars. Long fingers caressed the smooth skin of her inner thigh, moving unerringly towards the moist apex between her legs. His fingers teased her, followed by his seductive mouth, his silky hair brushed along her sensitive thighs as his impossibly bro
ad shoulders pushed her legs further apart. Spreading the fleshy petals back, his tongue slipped inside her, tasting, tormenting the precious pearl at her womanly center.
Shocked to her very being, Isabella's head came clear off the bed astonished one could make love in such a way. Nicolas continued to torment her with his deliciously rough, textured tongue rolling, licking the tiny bud until she arched, crying out when waves of pleasure swept her away to a world she'd never been told about.
Emerald eyes glassy, Isabella stared at him, confused when Nicolas rose above her. She relaxed when he bent to nibble the sensitive spot above the flutter of her pulse, tracing the slender column of her throat, molding his lips along her soft skin. Sweat beaded his brow from the exertion of exercising tremendous control over his raging passion. Bracing his arms, Nicolas positioned his throbbing shaft at her weeping core, heartened when her legs opened more, inviting him into her. Nearly losing the battle to go slow when the satiny tip of his manhood was bathed by her honeyed wetness, he was panting with the effort not to ram inside her, the knowledge Isabella was more than ready for him made it damn near impossible to control his lust. Holding her captive he rocked his hips, sliding his hard shaft in, then out, creating a slick friction as he inched further inside her. He was in sweet agony. Her hot, tight sheath encased him drawing him in. Tormenting her as well as him, Nicolas slowly stretched her tight sheath to accommodate his thick, long shaft when he encountered an unexpected barrier.
A virgin? Isabella was still a virgin! Bracing his arms, Nicolas thanked God for the strength to have gone slow their first time instead of allowing his first impulse to thrust himself into her hot sheath. Intense amber eyes held shocked emerald ones. Isabella held onto him for dear life, confusion and pain darkening the emerald depths more.
"Isabella, it will hurt, but I promise to make you feel better.” Sweat beaded on his brow, the effort to go slow was killing him.
Isabella nodded, trusting him when he thrust through the flimsy barrier keeping them from heaven. She cried out as he surged deep inside her. Nicolas nearly exploded. Her tight sheath encased him like a velvet glove, holding him hostage. Trembling, he felt her legs slide up to his waist, adjusting herself to his presence inside her. When she lifted her hips, urging him to keep his promise, he grinned and could do nothing but comply.
Surging deep inside her, over and over, sweeping her young body along, he built their rapture. Muscles bunching, quivering, their bodies ached, striving to be even closer. Her world exploded, taking him with her. Nicolas roared as he emptied his hot seed inside her, her silken muscles milking him as her hands grabbed his buttocks, pulling him deeper inside her.
Never in her life had she felt complete. Amazed by what they shared, her elation turned to horror. Fear shot through her when she realized the full impact of her actions. Nicolas had proof of her secret—she had never consummated her first marriage. Would he scorn her, or worse leave her?
His powerful body shuddered with the violent aftershocks of his world shattered by this vibrant woman in his arms. An immense effort was required to roll off Isabella. Nicolas took her with him as he lay on his back, her head rested in the curve of his shoulder.
Isabella was a virgin!
Unsure why, Nicolas felt like laughing, immensely glad to be his wife's first and last lover. He brushed back the damp tresses so he could see her face better, alarmed by the fear in her soft green eyes. Kissing her tenderly, he drew back, brushing the damp tendril from her flushed cheek. “What is wrong?"
"You are not angry with me?” Isabella whispered, half-afraid it was all a dream.
"How can I be angry when you have given me the greatest gift bestowed upon a man? In fact, it weighed heavily on my mind you had suffered from Mordred's perversions."
Isabella swallowed hard. Nicolas could not be more a hero in her eyes than at that very moment. “Thank you for understanding and just for the record, I told the truth when I said I wasn't sleeping with Gabriel.” Isabella smiled ruefully, leaning up to kiss his warm mouth. Surprised when Nicolas unexpectedly rolled her under him, he kissed her with renewed passion, stealing her breath away.
A knock on the door cooled their ardor. “At least they waited a while before they interrupted.” Nicolas reached for his pants when he noticed the blood on him. “Give us a moment.” He shouted on his way to the tub. Grabbing a cloth, he washed the evidence of her virginity off. Rinsing the cloth out, Nicolas returned to Isabella and gently wiped clean her thighs, laughing softly at her quizzical expression. “This is our secret. None need ever know about you and Mordred. For I am the only man you shall ever lay with.” He kissed her parted lips before covering Isabella with the blanket. Tossing the cloth into the pool, he reached for his discarded pants and donned them. Nicolas answered the door.
Ahmed waited patiently, holding a tray containing cut meat, breads, cheese, and wine. Handing it to Nicolas, the Arab inclined his turbaned head and left. Nicolas shook his head, a broad smile spreading as he turned the lock on the door. “I guess we are to be left alone for the rest of the day.” He laughed ruefully, setting the tray on the table and poured wine into two cups.
Steam rose invitingly from the pool. Isabella rose, wincing, her sore body. Stepping carefully into the pool, Isabella sighed in relief as the warm water soothed her tired, aching body.
Doffing his pants, Nicolas took their cups and handed one to Isabella before entering the pool. When she turned to set her wooden cup on the ledge of the pool, he saw her wince. “I should have inquired if you were healed before we made love.” Ashamed of his actions, he had taken Isabella without thought of her physical well-being.
Stunned when he failed to meet her inquiring gaze, Isabella took his handsome face between her slender hands, making him look at her. “Nicolas, do not think such thoughts! If I was not ready, we would not have done anything. Trust me when I say this, if I don't want to do something, I won't do it.” Her eyebrow rose haughtily as she smiled wickedly at him.
He burst out laughing. Setting his own cup down, he drew her to him, his eyes devoured her as the water lapped around the upper curves of her breasts. “There are many ways to change a lady's mind, and I am well-versed in coaxing a woman toward my way of thinking.” A sexy smile curved his firm lips.
Green eyes sparkled, Isabella accepted his challenge. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against him, delighted by the newly found power when his body reacted by her touch. “My lord, shall we see who shall fall to whose charms?"
The gauntlet was thrown down but in play. Tasting the wildness of her lips, they kissed long and slow. Surprisingly, Nicolas felt Isabella was more his equal than a mere woman. She was above all women in his mind as he positioned her so she could wrap her legs around his lean hips, sitting her on his lap.
Her long hair floated about their bodies. Taking a cloth and soap, his hot gaze roamed over her curves as he began to wash her. The rich lather created bubbles as he drew the cloth about her neck, down her arms and upward over her sensitive nipples, teasing her. Nicolas felt his shaft grow, thickening. Mesmerized by her body trembling at his touch, he discarded the cloth and reached under to cup her firm buttocks. Bringing her upward, laying claim to a ripe nipple, he took his prize deep into his mouth, suckling harder when she gasped, her head thrown back in delight.
Unable to stand the torment any longer, Isabella took his hard arousal in hand and impaled herself, shuddering at the intense pleasure of being one with Nicolas again. Gripping his broad shoulders, she moaned in frustration, not knowing what to do until Nicolas grasped her hips, guiding Isabella, helping her build their pleasure to all new levels.
"Open your eyes,” Nicolas demanded hoarsely, desperate to see her passion. Soft, passion swollen lips parted as her breathing quickened. Thrusting upward as she ground down, her incredibly strong fingers clutched his broad shoulders to keep her steady while she rode him. Isabella threw her head back, gasping as her body exploded in an earth-shattering cli
max. Nicolas thrust hard once more, joining her in the complete union of mind, body, and soul.
Exhaustion overwhelmed Isabella. Grateful when his strong arms pulled her close to where she could feel his thundering heart against her own. Who was this man she married? While she knew men were wont to brag, a knowledge Isabella had gained since most of her life was spent in the company of men, she felt Nicolas had proven her theory wrong.
He was still a formidable presence inside her as Isabella reached for the forgotten cloth and abandoned bar of soap. She washed his sleek chest, down his arms and rock hard stomach. Isabella's flushed face bore a look of awe on her elfish features. His powerful body trembled as her silken muscles tightened around his shaft as she moved. Nicolas sat up, holding her tight, his eyes squeezed shut at sweet agony, her breasts crushed against the heavy muscles of his chest. His mouth found the tender spot below her ear, nibbling, kissing the sensitive skin. Her hands roamed his broad back as she continued her exploration of his body.
His stomach growled a loud complaint, needing food. Chuckling at her obvious dismay, he lifted her from him, rinsing the soap off his chest. “I'm starving. We need to eat breakfast. Later on, I will devour you!” He promised helping her from the pool. Grabbing a warm towel, he wrapped it around her before taking the other and dried off. Nicolas watched Isabella gracefully walk over to the dark wood closet and withdrew a robe, donning it. Made of the sheerest silk material, gold threads shimmered in the iridescent greens and blues, complimenting her golden skin.
Tying the wide, gold sash about her waist, Isabella noticed her husband was staring at her, a fierce expression on his handsome face. “Have I done something wrong?” she asked warily.
"Where did you get that robe?” Nicolas demanded sharply. He had seen one similar in Jerusalem when he was on pilgrimage with Edward. The Demon Lord, who accompanied them, had admired the garment, too.
