“Shall I not?” An odd smile softened the line of Caddaric’s mouth and his hands persuasively kneaded the set of Jilana’s muscles.
A soothing warmth flowed from Caddaric’s hand threatening the stability of Jilana’s senses. “Caddaric, let me go.” When he neither replied nor loosened his grip, Jilana swallowed back the cry of despair which rose in throat. “I will not play your whore, Briton,” Jilana lashed out in a strangled voice when Caddaric pulled her back against the solid wall of his chest.
“So ready to judge, to accuse. Your temper mate your hair, little witch.” Caddaric lowered his face to Jilana’s hair and rubbed his cheek against the soft, sweet smelling tresses. With a muted sigh, Caddaric hands down the slender length of Jilana’s arms, crossed his own arms beneath the swell of her breasts. I do not ask you to play my whore.” He briefly closed eyes, savoring the feeling of Jilana securely enfolded against him. “You offered me flowers once.”
Caddaric’s breath danced across Jilana’s cheek and a tremor coursed through her. “That was before I knew you.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, Caddaric withdrew one of his arms and turned Jilana until she stood facing him. “And now, wicca? Do you know me now?” At her shaky nod, Caddaric placed his forefinger beneath her chin and raised Jilana’s face toward his own. “What am I, Jilana?”
Jilana’s mouth went dry. “My enemy,” she answered, amazed by the gentleness in Caddaric’s eyes and touch. “My enemy,” she repeated, as if to reassure herself of the fact. In truth, she thought hazily, Caddaric appeared far less threatening than he had only minutes before.
“I would not treat my enemy thus.” As he spoke, Caddaric’s lips traversed her brow, her cheek, and then, with curious restraint, hovered only a breath away from her mouth. “Do you not weary of our constant bickering, of the barbed words we fling at each other?”
Jilana nodded. The need to be constantly on guard whenever Caddaric was near left her nerves in tatters but she had no choice. Caddaric held her as slave, subjugated her will to his and made a mockery of her pride. But ‘twas the ghosts of her family which gave strength to Jilana’s legs and drove her out of Caddaric’s embrace.
“Jilana!” Stunned by her unexpected resistance, Caddaric watched in disbelief as she fled to the opposite corner of the room.
“Stay away from me,” Jilana cried when Caddaric took a step toward her. Aah, Juno, how could she have allowed him to touch her so intimately? The blood of her’ family stained his hands!
“Nay, Roman, I will not.” Blue eyes narrowed, Caddaric stalked across the floor toward his prey. The arm of the chair struck his thigh and with a savage oath he picked the chair up in one large hand and sent it splintering against the door.
Jilana’s heart pounded erratically at the violence in Caddaric’s face. She wanted to flee, to hide, to throw herself on the floor and beg his mercy, but she did not. To cower before the Briton was the coward’s way and Jilana, the screams of her family crying out to her from the grave, was no coward. “I hate you,” Jilana spat. “Murderer! Barbarian!”
The taunts were the final goad to Caddaric’s temper. With a swiftness uncommon for a man his size, he snared [Jilana’s wrist and pulled her against him. “I am no murderer,” Caddaric snarled, his eyes blazing down into hers.
“Liar!” Jilana twisted wildly in his grip, but to no avail. “My family’s blood stains your hands.”
“Your family is lost to you,” Caddaric agreed harshly, but not by my sword. And as for your hate,” he continued ruthlessly, ignoring Jilana’s cry, “I care not. You have exhausted my patience, Roman, and I will wait no longer for what is rightfully mine.”
Before Jilana could protest his right of possession, Caddaric had scooped her into his arms, retraced his steps across the room, and tossed her carelessly upon the bed. Jilana struggled upright, fear coursing in icy waves through her veins as she took in the implacable lines of Caddaric’s face. “I will never willingly submit to you.” A muscle leaped in Caddaric’s jaw and Jilana nearly fainted at her own audacity. Good Juno, I did not mean to speak those words aloud!
“Willingly?” Caddaric studied her curiously, his head tipped slightly to one side. Jilana’s first thought was that he had reconsidered, that with Ede so close at hand and so obviously willing, he had no wish for an unwilling woman. Then Caddaric smiled. His was a nice smile, chiseled lips turning upward to reveal white, even teeth, but ‘twas so devoid of warmth that Jilana’s heart sank. His smile was oddly amused, like a god enjoying the feeble struggles of some hapless mortal. “Willingly,” Caddaric reiterated. “You mistake me, Roman; I do not care whether you are willing or not. You belong to me and I intend to have you.” To clarify his meaning, Caddaric pulled his tunic over his head and tossed the garment aside. Heedless of the color which rushed to Jilana’s cheeks and the way she quickly looked away from his half-nude body, Caddaric leaned one knee on the bed. “Come here, Jilana.”
I am lost, Jilana thought wretchedly. He means to have me and I cannot stop him.
“I said, come here.” Impatience laced Caddaric’s voice and Jilana uttered a brief prayer that he would not hurt her too badly. Reluctantly she rose to her knees in front of Caddaric, her eyes fixed on the bed linens. “Look at me, Roman.”
This second command was even harsher than the first and Jilana forced her gaze upward. Caddaric’s narrow waist flared into an uncompromisingly male chest thickly covered by a wedge of brown, curling hair. It seemed to fill Jilana’s entire field of vision and she swallowed in an effort to relieve the sudden constriction in her throat. She pulled her eyes away from the disturbing sight and nervously glanced at the bronze torque which circled Caddaric’s neck. The torque was intricately scrolled; the two ends, fashioned into wolves’ heads, met in the hollow of the Briton’s throat. The hollow was accentuated with each breath he drew and Jilana quickly finished her perusal and raised her eyes to Caddaric’s. Blue, so blue, was Jilana’s first thought as their gazes met and held. As turbulent, as ever-changing, as the sea surrounding Britannia—and filled with a sadness that clawed its way into her very soul. I will not soften to this man, she told her crumbling defenses. He is my enemy, responsible for the destruction of all I held dear.
“A little peace, Jilana,” Caddaric murmured, entranced by the confusion reflected in her eyes. “Is it so much to ask?”
The quiet plea breached Jilana’s defiance as nothing else could. She knew what Caddaric was asking, knew that she should hate him for it, but she could not. Her anger and defiance gave way to the devastating loneliness Jilana had kept at bay during the past days. A little peace, her mind echoed temptingly. “Nay, Briton,” she sighed at last. ‘“Tis little enough to ask.”
Her voice was so small that for a moment Caddaric was not certain Jilana had spoken. He searched her face, seeking some sign of treachery or the defiance she hurled at him like daggers. But not even if he had imagined the words, Caddaric could not mistake the surrender in those violet depths. Victorious, Caddaric caught Jilana in his arms and crushed her lips beneath his own. She rested rightly against his chest, but the impression of her breasts burned through the fabric of her stola, searing his flesh. Blind to all else save the desire singing in his blood, Caddaric assaulted the fragile barrier of Jilana’s lips and pushed beyond to explore the recesses of her mouth. By the gods she is sweet, Caddaric thought as his tongue probed and tasted. One hand cradling the back of Jilana’s head, the other splayed across the small of her back, Caddaric slowly pressed Jilana to the bed. Off balance, Jilana instinctively clutched at Caddaric’s shoulders and he groaned at the touch of her hands.
The heavy, masculine body came to rest familiarly upon her own and Jilana shivered. Caught in the bargain to which she had agreed, Jilana was uncertain as to what was expected of her. She lay quietly, allowing Caddaric an unhindered investigation of her mouth while her mind absorbed the impact of the way he touched her. His hand moved upward from the small of her back to the place between her shoulder blad
es and Jilana felt her breasts being lightly, repeatedly, crushed against the wall of his chest. The hand tangled in her hair held her still for the kiss, but when Jilana hesitantly turned her head aside, Caddaric allowed the movement. Abandoning her mouth, his lips trailed a warm path past her ear and down the slender column of her throat until they reached the neckline of her stola. Tiny darts of pleasure raced along Jilana’s spine but when Caddaric’s tongue touched her flesh, her eyes flew open. Her surprised gaze collided with Caddaric’s inquiring one and she felt a crimson blush spread upward from her neck to her forehead.
With the deliberation of a master strategist, Caddaric slowly withdrew his hand from Jilana’s back and raised himself from the delightful cushion she provided until there was enough space for his hand to lay claim to her ribcage. Beneath the heel of his hand Jilana’s heart fluttered unevenly. Deliberately, provocatively, Caddaric brushed the tip of one breast with a callused fingertip and felt Jilana’s heart leap against his palm. He repeated the action and Jilana gave a smothered gasp and tried to shield herself with her arms.
“Nay, wicca, you will not deny me,” Caddaric growled. His eyes narrowing slightly, he parted the flimsy defense and drank in the sight of her hardened nipple straining against the fabric of the gown. Before Jilana could guess his meaning, Caddaric’s lips closed around the sensitive point while his hand surrounded the fullness of her breast.
A bolt of pleasure so intense she thought she would die of it shot through Jilana. Her breathing seemed suspended, her body tortured by some inner flame that found its way from her breasts to the center of her loins, and then Caddaric turned his attention to her other breast. A soft cry escaped Jilana’s lips and her fists curled fiercely into the bed linens as she fought her body’s urge to writhe within the embrace. Not for the world would she have Caddaric think her defiant, for then he would cease this strange magic in which her newly awakened senses were delighting.
Caddaric nibbled his way back along Jilana’s throat until he once again claimed her mouth. His kiss was long and deep, brimming with the same intense need that sent his hips arching reflexively into Jilana’s. One of his hands slid down to cup a buttock and hold her still against the intimate contact while his lips traveled to the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Jilana. Jilana,” he whispered thickly. The way she trembled beneath his touch aroused Caddaric even further and he nipped sensuously at her earlobe. “Why do you not respond to me? Why do you not touch me?”
Jilana—soaring in a world of pure physical pleasure— struggled to make sense of the words he spoke. Respond? Touch? Caddaric’s hand stroked the length of her thigh and the caress was another shock to her already spinning senses. Jilana forced her eyes open and met Caddaric’s dark blue, turbulent gaze. “You wish me to touch you?” she asked breathlessly as he feathered a kiss across her mouth.
“Aye.” All the yearning in his soul was contained in that one word, for at this moment—seeing the wide, violet eyes so soft and yielding—Caddaric wanted nothing more than the touch of Jilana’s delicate hands.
Hesitantly Jilana reached out to the broad shoulders. Her fingertips skimmed across flesh which was forcefully stretched over bulging musculature and, intrigued, she investigated the prominent biceps of Caddaric’s upper arms. Muscles tensed and rippled beneath her exploration and Jilana found herself remembering the incredible strength of his arms. How warm he is, Jilana thought as she traced Caddaric’s collarbone from his shoulders to the base of his throat. Even the torque was warm, radiating the heat of its owner.
Caddaric went still beneath Jilana’s touch but the pounding of his heart seemed to vibrate through his entire being. The very nature of Jilana’s caress spoke of her innocence and Caddaric willed himself to move slowly, to be patient with any fears—Jilana’s hands flattened themselves against his chest and he groaned as they blazed symmetrical trails down his torso, only to stop when they reached the barrier of the loincloth.
Jilana’s exploration ceased with Caddaric’s harshly indrawn breath, but her fingernails curled into his chest when he rolled to his back, carrying her with him. The skirt of her gown twisted upward around her thighs and as she lay with her legs firmly trapped between his, Jilana reveled in the feeling of his hair-roughened legs rasping against her softer flesh. Strong hands circled her waist, drawing her upward over that long, hard body until she was uncomfortably aware of the surging masculinity which only his loincloth held in check. With one hand at the small of her back, Caddaric pressed Jilana against the blatant evidence of his arousal and she gasped at the fiery spear of longing his action produced.
Caddaric framed Jilana’s face between his hands. “Kiss me, wicca.”
Mesmerized, Jilana obeyed. Her lips softly molded themselves to his, and this time, when Caddaric’s tongue begged entrance to her mouth, Jilana shyly welcomed him. Swept along by mutual passion they clung together, their bodies melting against each other in a vain attempt to deny the material which still separated them. Caddaric’s hand found and massaged the back of Jilana’s knee and continued the sensuous motion along her leg until he reached the juncture of her thighs. The nest of tight auburn curls teased his fingertips and he brushed against it. The low sound issuing from Jilana’s throat delighted him and he probed further, initiating her into the joys of the flesh.
Jilana shuddered at the pleasure splintering through her loins. She buried her face in the curve of Caddaric’s neck as his fingers stole the breath from her lungs and the strength from her limbs. As though in a dream, Jilana heard Caddaric murmuring soft, unintelligible phrases that seduced her heart as surely as he was seducing her body. Caught in his own trap, Caddaric lazily opened his eyes—and froze.
There, silhouetted in the open gallery doors, the sun burnishing his fair hair into a golden halo, stood Artair. For several moments Caddaric lay motionless, stunned disbelief holding him in place on the bed; and then, with the sudden fury of a summer storm, outraged anger poured through him. Uttering curses that consigned Artair to the gods of the Iceni underworld, Caddaric flung Jilana aside and hurled himself from the bed toward the gallery doors. Grinning, Artair sidestepped the charge and drew his sword in one fluid motion.
Jilana levered herself upright just in time to see Caddaric skid to a halt with Artair’s sword point only inches from his throat. Like figures in some terrible mosaic the men faced each other, silently assessing the other’s ability to continue the one-sided battle. Horrified, Jilana watched as the muscles rippled across Caddaric’s wide shoulders and his large hands flexed, then curled themselves into fists which seemed to her every bit as lethal as Artair’s sword.
“Nay, Caddaric,” Artair warned as he gently pressed metal point to Caddaric’s throat. Jilana’s low cry echoed through the room but neither man spared her so much as a glance. “I came at your father’s request. The Queen has called for a meeting of her council and Clywd wishes you to attend.”
“When?” Caddaric’s voice was low, clipped. A muscle bunched in his jaw at the slow, impudent smile that led Artair’s mouth, but the blade against his flesh prevented him from wreaking havoc upon the other man. “Clywd said immediately. But,” Artair’s gaze flickered to Jilana, “I am sure he would understand should you decide to tarry.”
“I will be there,” Caddaric ground out. His blue eyes glittered darkly as Artair nodded and slowly backed away. With a violent curse, Caddaric stepped back into the room.
The gallery doors slammed closed beneath the force of Caddaric’s hands, accompanied by the sound of splinter-wood. Jilana stared at the fissure which appeared in once-solid panel of oak, allowing a slice of sunlight to carve its way across the floor. Caddaric’s next words did nothing to alleviate Jilana’s sudden resurgence of fear.
“Artair will pay for his intrusion. I swear it!” Caddaric swung on Jilana, eyes narrowing at the sight of her thighs. “Cover yourself—or do you relish the thought of being exposed to any man who happens by?”
Stung by his words, Jilana scrambled
from the bed and nervously smoothed the wrinkled material over her hips. Her hands trembled and her knees threatened to buckle— a legacy of Caddaric’s kisses, although she told herself otherwise. “I did not beg to be raped in the full light of day,” she reminded him tightly. “If you remember—”
“Rape!” The single word was like a roll of thunder and Caddaric whitened beneath his tan. His hands came to rest upon his hips, startlingly dark against the white of his loincloth. “By the gods, you dare call it rape?”
Jilana swallowed convulsively, regretting her words, but too proud and stubborn to back down. “You threatened me, held me against my will ” Her voice trailed off at the look in Caddaric’s eyes. There was anger there but something else as well. A brief flash of pain.
“Rape,” Caddaric repeated, feeling as though Jilana had driven a spear into his vitals. He had shown her tenderness, more tenderness than he could recall showing any other human being, man or woman. And she called it rape! Without a word, Caddaric located his tunic and shrugged it on. Brushing by Jilana, he opened the trunk containing his possessions and removed a pair of soft leather boots. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, Caddaric pulled on the boots, then quickly laced and tied the thongs so that the leather was wrapped securely against his muscular calves. When he rose, the hurt twisting through him was well concealed beneath implacable features. When he finally spoke, his voice, too, was devoid of all emotion. “In my absence, Roman, you will put this room to right.” Jilana nodded, her red-gold hair shimmering like liquid fire, and Caddaric fought the urge to bury his hands in the silken mass. Instead, he turned on his heel and quit the chamber before his actions turned Jilana’s accusation into truth.
Warily, expecting Caddaric to reappear, Jilana approached the chamber door and peered into the hallway. It was empty, and from below came the sound of a door closing, marking Caddaric’s passage. Relieved, Jilana closed her own door and surveyed the shambles of the bedchamber. The chair Caddaric had so easily tossed aside was irreparable, fit only for kindling, and the bed linens were draped accusingly over the foot of the bed until they puddled on the floor. Jilana made her way to the bed, her cheeks flaming when she noticed the indentation she and Caddaric had left upon the mattress. What insanity had possessed her? What madness had Caddaric brought forth with his touch? Pricked by guilt, confused by all that had transpired, she mechanically made up the bed and set about straightening the room. ‘Twas easier to take refuge in physical labor than sort out her chaotic thoughts. And yet, she could not forget the tender strength with which Caddaric had held her.
Defy the Eagle Page 13
