LORD OF DUNKEATHE

by Margaret Moore

  With a low moan, Nicholas clasped her to him and his passion answered her own, fervent and strong, as he deepened the kiss. His tongue plunged into the warmth of her mouth, to swirl and twine with hers. He sidled nearer, pressing her firmly against his powerful body. His powerfully aroused body.

  He was hungry for her, as she was for him. He, who surely could have any woman he wanted, wanted her.

  As her lips moved hungrily over his, demanding the response that she craved, he kneaded her breast, exciting her yet more as her whole body seemed to weaken from the sensation.

  He tried to slip his hand into her bodice. The gown was too dght, and the straining laces broke. She didn't care, and when the neck gaped and he plunged his warm hand inside, she welcomed his caress. His palm brushed against her flesh, lightly skimming her nipple. His hand was rough and callused—a man's hand, a warrior's hand—but never had a touch felt better, or more welcome. She moaned softly, quietly encouraging him, untilhe swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Holding her gaping bodice to her breasts, she shifted back, not taking her eyes from him. He tore off his shirt, then his boots, tossing them aside. Then he removed his breeches.

  He was naked before her, magnificent in the moonlight, and hers to love, at least for tonight.

  Standing, she let the gown fall, exposing her body to his hungry gaze.

  "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes flaring with desire, and she saw in them the confirmation that he didn't think she was too old or not pretty enough, or too much the shrew. He appreciated her just as she was. He desired her, just as she was.

  Excited, aroused, she eagerly climbed onto the bed and lay down, then raised her arms to welcome him as, with slow, deliberate motions and a look that made her heartbeat race, he followed her onto the bed. He settled himself between her legs, his hips against hers, and she felt him, hard and ready. She was ready, too, and moist and anxious, as she pulled him to her, taking his mouth again with heated fervour.

  Her passion soared, her longing increased. Her pulse throbbed, and nowhere more than where his erection pressed against her. She clasped her arms about him and kissed his chest, the skin salty as her lips touched and teased. When she found his nipple, she toyed with it with her tongue. He threw back his head and groaned, the sound like the growl of a lion, spurring her on.

  With anxious need, her hands roved over him, feeling the shifting, bunching muscles of his back, admiring the power of his virile body. His hand slid smoothly along her ribs, and upward, to cup her breast while his lips trailed low and lower, along the

  beating pulse of her neck, past her collarbone, skimming her warm flesh.

  Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth. Moaning, whimpering with want, she twisted with the sheer pleasure he inspired. As he did the same to the other, she arched, eagerly offering herself to him.

  Keeping his weight on one hand, his palm crept up her leg, closer and closer to the place where the heat seemed hottest, the demand greatest.

  Gasping, she gripped his upper arms as he reached the moist place between her thighs. He pushed slightly with the heel of his hand, the pressure increasing her pleasure and her willingness.

  Leaning down closer, his chest against her breasts, he pushed again.

  "More," she gasped, no other word coming to her mind.

  He shifted. Moved back. She wondered—

  He licked her. There.

  Her eyes flew open and she raised her head. But only for a moment, because as he continued to arouse her, she fell back. She bunched the covers in her fist as his sinuous tongue took her to new realms of excitement and desire, until the building tension broke and splintered and scattered.

  As she lay panting, she vaguely wondered what happened next. If that was all he intended to do. If she should speak....

  He raised himself above her—the powerful, virile lord of Dunkeathe. His breath came in rough rasps as he looked down at her, his dishevelled hair about his face and broad shoulders. "Riona, if you want me to stop..."

  She shook her head.

  "You know where this will lead?" he whispered hoarsely. "Where I want to go?"

  She nodded. Her decision had been made when she kissed him in this chamber. "I want you to make love with me, Nicholas. Please."

  Still he didn't move. "I make no commitment, Riona, no promises."

  "I know."

  "I have spent too many years—"

  "I know, " she repeated, raising herself to capture his lips with another impassioned kiss.

  And she did know. She knew that she was surrendering her virtue. That there could be no regaining of the virginity she was giving him. That he wouldn't marry her. But if that was the price

  of a night in his arms, if that was what it would cost to share herself with this man even once, she wouldn't refuse. If she thought otherwise come the morning, she would deal with it then.

  She felt him pressing against her. And then he slowly thrust inside her.

  She cried out at the stab of pain.

  He stilled. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his lips against her neck. "Should I—?"

  "Don't stop," she said as her body grew used to him. The sensation of him within her created a new and even more undeniable urging.

  With a sigh of willing submission, he thrust again, slowly. The tension—that marvelous, anxious need and what it harbinged— arose within her as he moved again, with a little more force.

  And again.

  Need overtook her, the fervent wish to experience that wonderful release. She gripped his shoulders as he drove himself inside her yet more forcefully. The pain became a dim memory as her own body responded. Her excitement erased everything but the silent consent to allow the passion to take her where it would.

  With him.

  Faster he moved, pushing deeper and harder. His breath came in hoarse rasps. She held tight to him, delighting in his potent strength, the sheer power of his body, the way he made her feel. Holding his shoulders, his arms, she arched and bucked, moving without thought or plan, guided by the insistent urging of her own flesh, until the time of exquisite release. She groaned low in her throat as the waves of pleasure poured through her body.

  But that was not the end, not until the cords of his neck grew taut as harp strings and with a rough cry, he gave one more powerful thrust and joined her in ecstasy.

  Pandng and sated, he rested upon her as she held him close.

  How long they lay together, Riona didn't know, but eventually, through the haze of sleepy, satiated pleasure, she realized that she couldn't stay. "Nicholas? My lord?"

  "Hmm?" he murmured, more than half-asleep.

  "I have to go."

  He opened his eyes and looked at her.

  "Now."

  More awake, he moved away from her.

  She'd known it would be so, and yet her eyes stung with tears she would not shed, not before him, as she rose from the dishevelled bed. This was her choice, her decision, and she must accept the consequences.

  She went to retrieve the scarlet gown. Her hair had come loose, and it fell about her naked body.

  Nicholas clasped her from behind and she started at the unexpected embrace. "Are you sorry?" he whispered.

  She forced away any doubt as she turned so that she was looking at him. "No. I don't regret what we did."

  His smile was worth any amount of shame and regret to come. "Then I shall not. Will you come to me again, Riona?"

  She could no more have refused that request than she could have murdered her uncle. "Yes."

  He held her close, and as he did, he ran his hand through her long, unbound hair. "You have the most marvellous hair," he whispered. "I've often wondered how it would look loose."

  "I should get dressed."

  He let go of her. "I like that red gown."

  "It's Eleanor's."

  "Ah, yes," he said.

  "For now, Percival must think Eleanor comes to your bed, not me."

  "Until I make my choice."


  "Yes," she replied as she went to the door.

  And left him.

  ELEANOR WAS anxiously waiting when Riona returned. If she nodced the knot in the lacing, or that it had been broken, she didn't speak of it.

  "Was Sir Nicholas asleep?" she asked in an anxious whisper as Riona changed her clothes. "Did Percival see you? Did anyone?"

  "All went well," Riona assured her. "All will be well."

  As she crept back to her own chamber, she subdued any remorse or regret. If there was trouble to come, she would face it. If there were discovery and scandal and dishonour, she would accept it. She would risk all that, and more, to be held in the arms of the lord of Dunkeathe.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A FEW DAYS LATER, Nicholas stood by his solar window, hands clasped behind his back. Outside, the weather was fair, the fields were nearing time for harvest, and his soldiers were either on guard, or training.

  He was thinking of none of those things. He was watching Riona, who was standing by the well talking with Eleanor and the soon-to-be-married Polly. Even from this distance, he could tell that Riona was smiling, her whole body alight with the vibrant joy and zeal she brought to everything she did.

  Including making love. Every night he was with her was more excidng and astonishing than the last. Last night, her long, thick, marvellous hair about her naked body, she'd straddled him and bent forward so that the tips of her breasts brushed his pebbled nipples. Her weight on her hands splayed beside his head, she'd risen and lowered herself with intoxicating, maddening variety, exciting him until he thought he'd scream with both pleasure and frustration.

  "My lord?"

  Brought back to the present by his steward's voice, he turned to face Robert, who lowered his eyes to study his list. "As I was saying, my lord, Lady Joscelind's requests are rather costly.

  Peacock and quails' eggs are but two of the items she wants to serve at the evening meal."

  "Can we afford them at all, or will that leave us with nothing?"

  "We can buy them, my lord, but—"

  "Then do so. No one is to know that I'm running out of money."

  "My lord, there's another small problem. I fear D'Anglevoix is beginning to realize that there's something between his cousin and young Audric. He's been asking me if I think Lady Lavinia's found favour with you, and by his tone, he's getting rather anxious."

  "Ever since the soup was served cold and the meat was burnt when she was in charge of the kitchen, no doubt."

  Robert confirmed his assumption with a nod. "And I must say, my lord, your attentions to her have not been, um, encouraging."

  No, they hadn't, because he'd been distracted of late. It was all he could do to feign interest in Eleanor and Joscelind. "Is he planning to depart?"

  "I believe so, my lord."

  "That may be for the best. We're running out of money faster than I thought, so fewer guests will help. It's less insulting to him

  if he chooses to go, and less humiliating for the lady," he finished, thinking of Riona's admonitions on that point.

  She was right. He had never stopped to consider how his actions might affect the ladies who came to Dunkeathe.

  He expected that the parsimonious Robert would be pleased to have fewer guests to accommodate. Instead, his steward's face reddened and he shuffled his feet like a little boy facing a scolding parent. "You disagree?" Nicholas asked.

  Robert raised his eyes to look at his master, and Nicholas was surprised by the near desperation written on his features. "My lord, I had guessed you wouldn't be choosing Lady Lavinia, but I must ask you.... That is, I need to know if..." He hesitated, took a deep breath and hurried on. "Do you have any interest in the Lady Priscilla?"

  Was it possible? Could it be? "No, Robert," he replied. "I will not be marrying Lady Priscilla, although she did quite well when she was in charge of the kitchen. She seems a very practical young lady."

  Indeed, her meal had been plain and inexpensive in the extreme, almost like soldiers' rations. "Will you be sorry to see her leave Dunkeathe when the time comes?"

  Robert looked at the window, the table, the floor and then, finally, Nicholas. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "Yes!" he declared, like a man daring to defy the gods.

  Nicholas stifled any hint of amusement at this sudden passionate outburst from the man who was both his steward and his friend.

  Robert straightened his shoulders. "She only giggles when she's nervous. When she's with me, she's quite different."

  I should hope so, Nicholas thought, but he wouldn't ever say that aloud to Robert. "I assume she likewise cares for you?"

  He flushed even more. "Yes."

  "What does her brother think of this?"

  Robert's resolve diminished. "We haven't told Audric yet. She wanted to wait to see what happened with Lavinia. She cares a great deal for her brother. She's a very loving woman."

  "If she's earned your good regard, that's all I need to hear. Does she fear Audric will not approve of a marriage between you?"

  "As do I, my lord. I am but a steward."

  Nicholas put his hand on Robert's shoulder. "You were born of noble blood, albeit on the wrong side of the blanket, and brother to the finest man I ever had the privilege to call my friend. You're also one of the few people I trust. If that is not enough, do you suppose some land of your own for a small estate, like those acres in the valley you've always admired, will satisfy him?"

  Robert stared at Nicholas, dumbfounded. "You'd do that? You'd give me that land?"

  "Gladly, although you'll owe me tithes and you'll still be my steward, I hope."

  Not to mention, Robert having his own household would mean that the giggly Priscilla would be in Dunkeathe but rarely.

  "Of course I'll still be your steward!" Robert cried happily. "It's been my great honour to serve you, Nicholas, and I hope I can continue to do so for many years to come."

  Pleased, Nicholas gave him a smile, which was no longer so rare a thing with him. "Why don't you go find Priscilla and tell her the news? After that, if you'd like me to speak to Audric—"

  "No, that won't be necessary," Robert said as he backed toward the door, a smile on his face and joy in his eyes. "I'll do that. But I thank you for your generosity, Nicholas, from the bottom of my heart."

  After he was gone, Nicholas returned to the window. Riona, Eleanor and Polly weren't at the well anymore.

  He wished he could have heard the conversation between the three women. They were much together these days, and he thought he knew why. Riona was trying to teach Eleanor how to run his household.

  Disturbing thought. Disturbing vision of Eleanor in his bed instead of Riona. Yet so it must be, or his years of toil and suffering would have brought him no tangible reward.

  He sighed, then went to find the Due D'Anglevoix. He might not be able to marry who he'd like, but he could think of no reason Lavinia and Audric shouldn't marry. Both had birth and property, and were of equal status.

  If they were both grateful to the lord of Dunkeathe for bringing about the circumstances of their union and doing what he could to promote it, well, that was good, too.

  He went first to the kitchen. After all, it was slightly possible the Norman nobleman was there.

  And very possible, as he happily discovered, that Riona was, albeit looking as tense as he'd ever seen her. She was surrounded by the servants, all of them talking at once.

  "What's going on here?" Nicholas demanded as he approached the group, which scattered like a flock of birds when they heard his voice.

  "I fear, my lord, that there's been some, um, confusion about the evening meal," Riona said.

  "Is it not the Lady Joscelind's turn to deal with such matters?" he asked, trying to sound as he usually did when faced with

  conflict and not betray his feelings for Riona. "Why isn't Lady Joscelind here?"

  Most of the servants, abashed, stared at the ground and didn't answer. A few, like Polly, slid wary g
lances at Riona, then at their master.

  "I understand, my lord, that she's gone to select her gown for this evening," Riona offered.

  "Then somebody should go and fetch her to sort out any troubles."

  Polly took a step toward him. "If you please, my lord," she said, her voice quivering but her gaze unwavering, "we don't want to take orders from Lady Joscelind."

  As the other servants mumbled what sounded like approval of her sentiments, he noticed Riona sidling towards the door to the hall. Later, he'd tease her about fleeing the battle. She'd probably get that indignant fire in her lovely eyes and he'd have to kiss her annoyance away.

  He forced himself to focus on the servants. "What you want is not my concern. My orders are that you obey her."

  Polly didn't back down. "That may be, my lord, but she's given all of us about six things to do all the same time and some of it don't make sense, although it might have if she'd explained herself

  and didn't just stand there tellin' us we were stupid when we tried to ask a question."

  The other servants nodded rapidly and murmured their agreement.

  "So you decided to pester Lady Riona with your questions and complaints instead?"

  Polly's face reddened and her gaze fell.

  Riona hurried forward. "My lord, I believe a simple reassigning of tasks is all that's required. I'll be happy to assist, and then Lady Joscelind need not be troubled."

  It was like her to help even Joscelind, for the servants' sake. But if Joscelind was responsible for the trouble, Joscelind could fix it. "I thank you for your kind and generous offer, my lady, but this is not your concern."

  He addressed Polly. "Do you all have things you can do untilI speak to Lady Joscelind?"

  Polly's lips turned up with a hint of a grin. "Yes, my lord."

  "Good." He gestured for the spit boy to come closer. "Go and tell Lady Joscelind that I wish to speak with her in my solar when she has completed her toilette, which I assume will be soon."

  The lad nodded and ran off. "As for you, my lady," he said to Riona, "we shall speak of this matter later, but first, has anyone seen the Due D'Anglevoix?"

  "He's gone to the outer ward," one of the other women offered. "Leastways, that's what Rafe said."