by Jaide Fox
“To be raised in an environment where love is shared and expected. Where it is the unspoken mammoth in the room at any and all events...And though he had his faults, even as a child, I could see how much he loved her and how she intrinsically disliked him. I suppose the prospect of sharing a chamber was the final straw, shall we say.”
“Tis a shame that non-reciprocal love exists at all,” she remarked soberly.
“It is? Where would Romeo and Juliet be? Tristan and Isolde? Star cross'd lovers make the world rotate on its axis, Isabeau.”
She shrugged her shoulder. “Perhaps, it does. Perhaps, it doesn't. But I would prefer for it not to do so. For a world to spin on unhappiness is not a good thing in anyone's estimation! Was this tower to be your mother's?”
“No. The last one.”
“They must be hideously expensive to maintain,” she murmured inappropriately, as she took in the state of this chamber. As a particularly virulent shade of yellow mildew seemed intent on overtaking an entire wall.
Wolfe laughed, amused. “Yes. They do. But then everything about this castle drains my purse. In a good way, but tis a drain nonetheless.”
“You said this is your home, but it's also the ducal seat?”
“Yes.”
“Don't you fear the Milesians coming here as they did your parents?” she asked, touching on an earlier thought she'd had.
“They wouldn't dare,” he spat. Not at her, but almost as though his switch to rapid fury was aimed entirely at them.
“This place is known as a haven for the Sidhe who have been mistreated by the Milesians. Not only is it surrounded by guards, but it is surrounded by magic. My father, in his infinite stupidity, began to turn against the old rituals. In the most fundamental of ways, he led the life of a Sidhe. Married into his own race, procreated and used his talent to make the Sinclair & Heath funds flourish. But...”
She frowned at his pause. “But?”
“You remember the stained glass windows in the Great Hall?”
“Yes. The Griffin. An Asrai and a Gytrash if I'm not wrong.”
“No. You are correct, only missing the lynx. These are magical creatures and will cause those not of the Sidhe harm if the Sidhe, who care for them and provide them with shelter, so require it. The asrai will act the siren and lead those who seek the Sidhe asunder. As will the Gytrash. A Griffin and a lynx will do the same.”
“Ah. So your father did not require their assistance?”
“Correct. He was far too arrogant to believe he'd need the help of mere animals.”
“And you speak to these animals. Through your talent.”
“Yes. Any Milesian that dares step one foot into that forest knows that certain death awaits. Many have tried and many have lost their lives. The forest has grown exponentially infamous. There are now almost twenty Griffins in that wood,” he finished, his voice filled with pride.
“But why did the Griffin sweep down and try and carry me away? I'm Sidhe, am I not?” she asked indignantly.
“Aye, you are. But the Griffin that came for you would have simply returned you to the castle grounds. Ordinarily, they attack.”
“But you pulled me from its talons!”
“Of course, I did!” he said with a snort. “I did not realize that you wished to go for a flight! Especially one where your shoulders were the only part of you that were held securely.” He grabbed her hand and mockingly continued, “Come, I shall ask one of the Griffins to take you for a ride!”
She tugged her fingers from his and glared at him. Infuriated but at the same time pleased at his good humor, when he chuckled at her mutinous face. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, your Grace.”
“Not within these walls, it isn't,” he retorted quickly and with a grin.
She pursed her lips, but otherwise ignored his last comment.
“Your parents, sadly, are living proof that the traditions should be carried on, aren't they?” she said with a faint grimace.
His lips twitched and he murmured softly, “I like your honesty, Isabeau.”
“Tis a habit now, I'm afraid.”
“Hardly a bad one.”
“Whilst my mother never advocated lies, she was fully aware that life amongst the ton is filled with half-truths and that to be honest, is terribly passé. But ever since my flight from our mutual foe, the seed of truth has merely had time to blossom and grow.”
“Well, I, for one, am glad that it has been allowed to flower in your soul. It is very refreshing and at times, amusing,” he finished with a quick grin. “Come. Less talk of the maudlin, you have seen the chapel and the towers, is there anywhere in particular you would like to see next?”
Instantaneously, nerves overset her. For deep down, she knew where she wanted to see, but was unsure as to how to say it. Wolfe probably considered her a whore already, so his opinion of her could hardly drop any lower! The thought made her wince.
Nervously, she stepped over to the mildewed wall and stared out into the dark blackness of the night that could be seen from one of the arrow holes.
“Your bedchamber,” she blurted out with her back to him and her head now ducked.
She heard his boots clack against the stone floor and knew that he would be walking over towards her. She imagined what he'd say or what he'd do and was completely unsure as to how to react to either.
When his hands came up to cup her upper arms, she hissed slightly and felt the need to resist as he tried to turn her bodily around so that they faced one another.
“Do you mean that?” he asked harshly.
Biting her bottom lip, she nodded slightly and felt herself being crushed against his chest as he devoured her with his mouth and instantly, turned her lower legs to mush with the sensuality of his kiss. Her nipples tightened and the place in between her legs began to burn hotly once more.
Before he'd awoken and she'd rested in a chair on one of the terraces, she had remembered what her friend had called this place--her quim. It was more than likely vulgar, but she could not think of it as simply the area between her thighs. It was so much more than that, so hot and bright and fiercely did it burn that it deserved a name.
Internally, she registered the sheer burst of need that was juddering through her system and which was centered almost entirely at her quim. Small whimpers began to escape her mouth and Isabeau began to tug at his jacket and then his shirt when that came to no avail.
Her hands were frantic and seeking, ever seeking, but he soon put a stop to that.
“Isabeau! If you intend for me to take you on the floor of a dirty and dank stone tower, then continue in the same vein. But you want to see my sleeping chamber, do you not?” he murmured huskily, dropping his head to press soothing kisses to the side of her throat and neck.
She licked her lips and nodded. Words failed her. As had her voice. The only thing it was capable of making, were slight gasps and feathery whimpers.
“Come, we shall adjourn for the moment, dear heart,” he promised and so saying, lifted her into his arms and began the walk down the tower steps and rushed through, in a whirlwind, the myriad rooms and chambers that led to his suite. They all appeared to be intermingled and interconnected.
Within moments, without having seen one person, for despite the enormous number of staff- the castle's size more than likely had them distributed evenly amongst the levels, he was carrying her down the corridor that she knew and before the door that only a day or so ago, she had believed to be the master's bedroom. Of course, now, she knew it to be so for definite.
As they neared it, she noticed the magnificent carving around the door frame. It wasn't a wooden carving as she had first believed, but from gold. Not in the sense that the door frame was solid gold, but there were bracteates, ancient amulets that were made from precious metals for the wealthy and were inscribed with pictures and runic letters. In the books she had read, they had only been of Germanic or Scandinavian descent...she wondered how his family had acquired them and said
so.
“What does it mean?” she asked huskily and pointed to the semi-circular frame.
He smiled wryly. “The bracteates?”
“Yes.”
“You're very astute, aren't you?” he commented, then paused and murmured, “Let those who rest within, find the solace they seek.”
“Why in runes? So that it's a charm?”
“It's supposed to be a charm,” he demurred. “But only a warding spell. And my translation is very loose. These bracteates come from almost a thousand years ago, so my translation could also be very wrong,” he finished with a laugh. “No Duke has ever died in this suite.”
She nodded but said with a frown, “Then why do they move away from these rooms and sleep in the towers?”
Wolfe grinned. “To share a room with their beloved. Tis a statement of intent and pride, my dear.”
So saying, he walked to the door and nodded his head at the knob, she bent to the side and opened it.
The room into which they walked was a sumptuous display worthy of a Duke and not something she would have thought Wolfe would appreciate.
A huge marble fireplace tipped in gilt stood at the very center of the room and was almost large enough to be able to stand, without crouching, in its hearth. Atop that, was bric-a-brac that would more than likely have fed a thousand families for their entire lives. Above that was a stylized Louis XVI mirror and to the side, a relatively small circular, high table. Around which stood three plain, richly red mahogany chairs. There was a candelabrum on the table service that gleamed with what seemed like thirty of the enchanted balls of flame that were Wolfe's to command.
Opposite the table and to the other side of the fire, was a brocade divan that was laden with heavy cushions. Behind that, was a bed that was the size of a small lake, or seemingly anyway.
It was a bizarre shape. Not a rectangle, but more like a square. As wide as it was long, and it was very, very long. Although it was difficult to tell which was the top and which the bottom due to the androgynous shape, the sides were framed with a bedstead of curling, carved swirls and was shaped like the letter 'S' to the right and the reverse to the left. It was edged with a dull gilt.
Above the bed, hung a canopy that would have made George IV swoon with delight and turn in his coffin! Ornate and carved once again, it was beautiful, just not what she would imagine Wolfe sleeping under. The heavy, royal blue velvet was gathered at the canopy, then draped along the frame in a resplendent display of abundance.
The room was decorated in variants of the royal blue found in the velvet draperies on the bed, from the rugs upon the floor to the upholstery.
“I believe opulent is the work you are seeking,” Wolfe commented wryly and she couldn't help but grin at his observation.
The more she grew to know this man, the more facades she realized he had. Wolfe was taciturn and grim, stern and close-mouthed. But at the same time, he could be amusing and charming and witty. It was an appealing contrast and one that she enjoyed. Perhaps the verb enjoyed was a peculiar one to use, but it felt correct.
She liked him as a person and took pleasure in being in his company. He was highly observant, interesting, well-read and she admitted to herself with a faint sigh, the type of gentleman she would have sought, had her mama had the time to arrange her coming out ball.
“It is certainly not how I expected your chambers to be,” was all she said, not wanting to be rude.
He simply grinned and said, “They're where I sleep. I think, when I show you my study, you'll be more pleased by the show of manly decorations.”
Her lips twitched and almost as though that small gesture was the turning point of their conversation, his eyes began to focus on her mouth and instinctively, knowing that it would excite him, she licked her lips. Slowly. Then pressed her tongue to the inner arch of where her Cupid's bow rested.
She knew that he was about to kiss her, moments before he actually did and the press of his lips against hers was wondrous. Whilet the walk through the castle and the return to this chamber had cooled her passion somewhat, it could in no way have entirely dampened down the urges that her body was firing at her.
She felt marvelous. Alive and kicking and so damned ready for him that she thought she might explode.
Pulling away from his seeking mouth, she murmured, “”The bed!
He complied with an intent look that had her heart starting to pound and strode them both over to the side of the enormous mattress. He dropped her down and then, disturbingly, left her. She curled up on to her elbows and watched him, wondering where he was going and why.
With a frown, she watched as he grabbed one of the chairs and carried it over to the bed. He then set it before her and tugging her hands into his own, pulled her upright.
He slipped the sleeves down her arms and released her unsupported breasts to his gaze. Instantly, the tips tautened and she longed for his mouth to be there, suckling them and hardening them even further.
Seemingly ignoring those pouting siren-calls, he went to work on the bodice and stripped her of that and then the skirt, until she was left bare buttocked on the bed.
It sent shudders of both pleasure and fear through her as she realized while she was entirely naked, he was fully dressed.
When she assumed he was about to stand and strip himself of his own clothes, he merely sat back on the chair and pulled her to him--feet first.
Blushes and embarrassment and mortification assailed her as she realized he wanted to study her...there...her quim. And she had to fight the need to cross her legs. But his hands were insistent and they spread her further and further apart until she was completely open to him.
A gentle finger explored her and as soon as he touched that nubbin of pleasure that she had discovered the night before, she relaxed infinitesimally. Isabeau settled back with a slight sigh and dropped her head against the mattress. She gulped as more fingers began to touch her and almost swooned as she was sure that there was a slight brush against her quim that was not a finger, but a breath.
Isabeau was both relaxed and on edge. Waiting, but unsure for what. The slight and delicate, exploratory touches were energizing yet pleasurable and she enjoyed his touch. He pressed a finger inside the folds of her quim and she shuddered at the similarity to the possession she had felt last night, It was not as uncomfortable but without the same pleasure, yet the slight rasp of his callused fingers in the most sensitive and tender part of her caused a shocking reaction that sent a buzz of power sizzling through her system.
When his tongue flickered over that highly sensitive area, she thought that she would scream and her lungs literally felt as though they were being choked by her desire not to do so. It seemed to grow inside her, getting bigger and bigger and bigger until Isabeau was almost sure that she was vibrating with it. And if not that, then almost strumming with hunger for him.
He touched and licked and sucked at her quim, yet although no inch was left unturned, he teasingly touched every part of her instead of focusing on the part that needed him most.
“You make me so achy,” she cried, biting her lip, bucking her hips to urge him to that most needful place, and still he denied her.
She could feel her juices increasing with his attention, the teasing sweep of his tongue as he devoured her cleft.
