Warrior's Lady

by Gerri Russell

  "He wants me to wear this?"

  The maid nodded. "He had it made for ye after the mishap with Lady Lockhart's gown. Let's put it on. The entire staff is waitin' belowstairs to see ye in yer gown."

  "You all want to see me?" she asked, stunned. "Why? Why would your opinion of me shift at all? I have not changed."

  "Nay." The maid dropped her gaze to the floor. "But ye showed all of us that ye would willingly put others' safety above yer own. Ye saved Lord Lockhart from an attacker. Ye helped Charlotte survive her childbirth. Ye protected Lady Violet when we were attacked and ye were taken in return. Ye are appreciated." Rosy removed the dress from the box, then draped it across the bed, revealing its full beauty and elegance. "Let me help ye dress."

  Rhiannon stared at the dress as her mind reeled from the maid's forthright comments. She would have to agree that the household's behavior toward her had shifted. There were subtle signs: a cautious smile, an offered bowl of pottage at the midday meal, a fresh basin of water near the bed upon awaking, a warm fire in the hearth each night.

  At first she'd let those things pass as necessities that Camden had insisted upon. But the kindness had continued while he'd been gone. An extra warm blanket on her bed one night, the lavender soap that had appeared by her washbasin, and most notable of all, no one hissed at her or spat on her as she passed them in the halls. Had they truly started to accept her? Despite who she was?

  And if so, what did it all mean for her future? A warm glow flowed through her. "Let's get this dress on. Shall we?" She would find no answers to her questions standing in this room.

  In no time at all with Rosy's help, the silken fabric draped across her breasts, her hips, her thighs, fitting her to perfection. The fabric was foreign to her. She had never seen its equal. Had Camden brought it back with him from the Holy Land like so many of the furnishings of his castle?

  "Ye look enchantin', milady," Rosy said as she stepped back to admire Rhiannon in the gown.

  "I feel enchanted."

  "I'll see ye belowstairs with the others." Rosy bobbed a curtsy, then left the chamber.

  Rhiannon let her fingers glide through the sea of light blue silk and lace, and a smile came to her lips. The dress wrapped her body in a cocoon of comfort and confidence until a knock sounded on the door and Camden entered.

  He took a step into the chamber, then stopped. The intensity of his gaze made her uneasy, causing a tight stricture in her chest. "You look magnificent," he said, his voice thick. A heartbeat later, he continued toward her, taking her hands in his.

  "Are you ready?"

  He took her arm and guided her from the chamber down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, the entire staff crowded into the great hall to watch them. Murmurs of excitement floated about the hall.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Mistress Faulkner awaited them. She held out a fur cloak to Camden, who took it and placed the heavy warmth about Rhiannon's shoulders before adding a second cloak around his own. "One last thing," he said, accepting a silken band from Mistress Faulkner. "I must place this over your eyes."

  "A blindfold?" She tensed at the memory of the last time her vision had been taken from her.

  He must have seen the tension in her body because he added, "A temporary measure." His blue eyes glinted with mischief. At her sharp nod, he tied the band around her eyes. "Now we proceed."

  Holding her tight, he led her out the front door of the keep and onto the castle grounds. Evening air brushed against her cheeks, and she nestled into the heavy cloak about her shoulders. It was long enough to brush against her legs, and she was grateful for the extra warmth. He led her along for a spell before stopping and gently removing the blindfold.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the fading light of day, and when they did, she felt the breath leave her lungs. She froze, taking in the scene. After that first stunning impact, she felt a rush of overwhelming rightness. As if everything in her life had led her to this moment.

  She moved slowly into the scene. A hundred candles glittered in the darkening evening air, on the ground and higher up, on a semi-circular stone wall at the edge of the castle's fish pond. A thick sheet of ice covered the pond that glistened and sparkled beneath the glow of the flames.

  It was as she remembered from the night so long ago with her mother. The night he'd asked her to share her memories with him. "You did this for me?"

  The sheer beauty of the moment robbed her of speech. She reached out to one of the clusters of candles near her, her hand hovering over the soft golden light. The flame was warm beneath her palm, as warm as the look in Camden's blue eyes.

  "Do you like it?"

  "It's beautiful." Thickness tightened her throat.

  "Aye, 'tis beautiful," he said, not looking at the scene before them but at her face. He took a step closer, drawing her body up against his. They were isolated in a cocoon of intimacy, out of view from the rest of the castle. "Will you glide with me?"

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. He drew her over to a bench nearby and slipped pattens on her feet, then slipped into his own. He drew her up against his body, shifting his cloak so that her body pressed against his before he wrapped his cloak about them both. Then, slowly, carefully, he guided her about the ice.

  The night air brushed against her cheeks as they glided from one end of the ice to the other, their bodies moving as one. She could feel her breasts swell, her pulse accelerate at his nearness. The heat of his body wrapped around her in a cocoon of warmth and arousal.

  His lips caressed her temple, brushed the sensitive place just behind her ear. She drew a sharp breath. "Why did you do this?" she asked, needing to understand his motives before she couldn't think anymore, before his nearness clouded her brain.

  "I want to remind you of a happier time."

  He moved to kiss her neck. She pulled back despite the fact her knees felt weak and rubbery beneath her. She had to understand. "I need to know something."

  "What?"

  "You know who I am. That used to bother you. Does it still?"

  The glow of the candlelight illuminated only one side of his face, leaving the other in darkness. Mysterious. She'd seen his ruthless side when she'd first arrived at the castle. She'd also seen his gentler side, more times than she cared to admit. But who was this man, truly?

  "I used to think I knew who you were, and I was swept away by you anyway." He paused. "Does that make sense?"

  "Aye," she breathed. Of all the things he had said tonight, that made the most sense, yet unsettled her at the same time. It was what she'd always wanted. Someone to look past her name, and into her heart and mind. To look at the person she was meant to be.

  He gave her a cautious smile. "Will you let me find out all there is to know about you?"

  Could she willingly make herself any more vulnerable to this man? She lowered her gaze to the candles burning brightly against the black of night. The price of such a deed would be her very soul. But her reward could also be lifelong happiness. Was it worth the risk?

  She brought her gaze back to his. She held out her hands. "Skate with me."

  He smiled as he grasped her fingers with his own. An odd air of protectiveness charged Camden's movements as he gently guided her into the center of the ice. He twirled her around, slowly, allowing them both to glide across the slippery surface.

  The breeze caressed her suddenly heated cheeks. Warmth stirred within her as her gaze met his in the candlelight. He exuded confidence, intelligence, and sexuality. It was his sexuality that reached out to her now as she became acutely aware of the strength of his hands holding her own with such exquisite care, the way his thighs tensed then relaxed against the soft fabric of his tartan as he used his strength to keep them spinning in a breathless circle.

  Then as if he, too, had suddenly become aware of her exploration, their movements ceased. The world slowed back into stillness. Desire flared in the depths of his eyes.

  She couldn't look away. She couldn
't breathe.

  "Rhiannon." The word was a caress.

  She trembled as an echo of his desire rippled through her.

  "I want to touch you."

  Her heart was pounding so hard, she was certain he could hear it.

  He brushed her throat with the back of his fingers, and a primal shudder moved through her. Her nipples hardened, pushing against the sheer linen of her chemise.

  He pulled her to him. "Tell me you want this." His voice was raw as he held his desire in check. She could see the effort his restraint was costing him in the pulse that thrummed in his jaw, the way the muscles of his chest bunched beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

  "I cannot resist you." She could smell him, that familiar scent of musk, of mint, of maleness. He slipped his hand beneath her cloak. He slid his hands up her arms, across her shoulders, then back down, taking the bodice of her gown and her chemise along with them. The dress fell to her waist, exposing her breasts.

  His lips lowered to her breast and his mouth closed on her nipple. Heat flashed through her, and the muscles of her stomach clenched.

  His hands grasped her breast, caressing her gently. He nipped at the tender peak, gently rolling her sensitive flesh between his teeth.

  Her spine arched and she cried out. She was intensely conscious of him pulling her dress down to her ankles. He followed with his hands the path the fabric had taken down the length of her body, leaving her for a moment to toss his cloak over the ice. He fell to his knees atop the thick fur of his cloak, exploring her bare buttocks in his palms as he buried his face in the tight curls surrounding her womanhood. His tongue slipped inside.

  Her fingers reached out, blindly digging into his hair as he continued his assault. She arched backwards, the sensations almost too intense to bear.

  The air swirled around her, but she hardly noticed, so warmed was she by heat — the warmth of his hands caressing her as he stroked the molten heat inside her. She could hear the harsh sounds of her own breathing echo in the night air.

  They were exposed — to the night, to the elements, to each other.

  His teeth closed gently on the small nub of her, nibbled, then pulled, stroking her, teasing her, until she felt as though she would incinerate right there in his arms. She peaked, erupted, as sensation after sensation rode through her, carried her.

  In the next moment, he pulled her down until she was nestled in the warmth of his fur cloak. He moved over her, parted her thighs, and plunged deep inside.

  Again sensation after sensation rippled through her with an intensity that consumed. And she wanted nothing more than to merge into one with him.

  He thrust shallowly, then deeply, not letting her get used to the rhythm.

  She nestled against the furs, her breath coming in halting gasps.

  "Do you feel me?" He drew out and plunged deep, thick, hot.

  She felt every inch of him, but she wanted more. She lunged forward, trying to take more of him.

  He withdrew until he was barely inside her. "Is it good?"

  She strained to keep him with her, inside her. "I want all of you."

  He plunged deep into her with a force as primal as the night that enveloped them. She arched up from the ground and gave a low cry of satisfaction. She met each thrust with her own.

  He cupped her buttocks in his palms and lifted her deeper into each thrust. "Rhiannon ... give me—" He spoke through gritted teeth, his nostrils flaring with each harsh breath. "I want more." He moved desperately, his hips thrusting.

  Her head thrashed back and forth at the erotic caress of his words, his texture inside her, his passion. Frantic cries filled the air as tension coiled tighter and tighter with each stroke of his body. Sensation streaked through her, building, spiraling. Her senses sharpened, sending shards of sensations: darkness, light, earth, snow, musk, Camden.

  He thrust again, and she climaxed, the tension exploding with a force that sent a fiery release through her. An instant later she could feel him spasm again and again within her, spilling his seed into her body.

  He collapsed on top of her, his breathing harsh and strained. They lay there in silence for several moments.

  The stars seemed to twinkle with all the satisfaction that rode through her body. And even though Rhiannon had never felt happier, fear niggled at the edges of her awareness. No matter how much she had wanted to possess Camden tonight, she knew in her heart it was a mistake. She should never have let this happen. All her defenses were down, and she lay exposed and vulnerable before him. No matter how much he professed to wanting to know the real her, in the end he would hurt her. She expected it. He wouldn't mean to, but it would happen.

  It always happened.

  But for now, in the aftermath of their lovemaking and shielded by his arms, she would allow the fantasy to continue. Because for the first time in her life, instead of feeling lonely, confused, and downtrodden, she felt very much alive.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Camden pulled the furs snug around their bodies as he lay still, his breathing slow and steady. Satisfaction like he'd never known before drugged his limbs. He closed his eyes. Only for a moment would he sleep. Then he'd carry Rhiannon inside and plant her firmly and forever in his bed. The fur of his cloak cushioned his skin. Rhiannon's body, nestled against his side, warmed his spirit. Sleep beckoned with an irresistible allure.

  The night sky surrounded him in a veil of black — trapping him, condemning him as surely as the holy man had by tossing him in the dungeon.

  He dug his fingers into the thick clay walls. He looked for purchase to climb his way out. Perhaps when he got to the top he could find a way to unfasten the wooden door. He had to escape the nightmare and make his way back home. He missed his family. He missed everything about Scotland, a place so different from where he found himself now.

  And Orrin, his one last connection to his homeland … Camden had to protect him. The holy man had already tried to poison Orrin's mind and make him do things that could cost him his mortal soul.

  Camden gazed into the preternatural nothingness, praying for a glimpse of a ledge, a rock, anything that might help get him out of this pit of hell. His eyes strained to pierce the darkness.

  The darkness pressed in on his lungs. Made it difficult to breathe. It was like being in a coffin. He'd blocked thoughts of death since he'd been stolen from his homeland's shores. He'd been forced to fight the bloodiest of battles in the holy man's crusade. He'd killed countless men, both Christian and Islamic, but he'd never been afraid until this one isolating moment.

  He clawed at the earth on all sides of the pit, finding only a smooth, slick surface. He would find a way. He would get free if he had to dig through the wall; eventually he'd escape.

  Like David going forth to fight Goliath, he would face great odds. He scratched at the dirt, coming away with handful after handful. He would get out. He would protect Orrin. He would return home to keep those he loved safe.

  He growled into the darkness. Digging. Digging. The footholds he created didn’t seem to take him higher until finally he could see the trapdoor and the slightest glimmer of light.

  He pressed into the light, digging faster. His body ached, his lungs burned. It didn't matter. Only freedom mattered now.

  He thrust the trapdoor aside and broke through into the light of day, crawling out, gasping for clean air to fill his lungs. Blinded by the sudden brightness, he squinted as he collapsed back against the cool, soft earth. Something soft cradled his head, something warm that smelled of lavender. He craned his neck to look behind him, only to gaze at Rhiannon's face, her features etched with pain, with terror.

  She was dead.

  He'd failed to protect her from the talons of death.

  The talons of death…

  "No!" Camden sat bolt upright. Darkness surrounded him. He froze. Was he back inside the dungeon? He'd escaped, long ago. His heart thrummed in his chest.

  Where was he? The scene he'd arranged for Rhiannon gradually
took shape. The tallow candles had burned low, their flames sputtering in the remnants of the suet, and snow flurries had left a light dusting across the furs that cocooned them in warmth.

  Rhiannon stirred at his side. "What's wrong, Camden? What is it? A nightmare?"

  He scooped her into his arms. "I am well."

  "Are you truly?"

  "I am merely wondering," he said, smiling down at her, "if I should try to further my attempts at seduction."

  She arched a brow. "You've been very thorough already."

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead, relieved that he'd only had a nightmare. He nestled against her hair, drawing in the scent that was so uniquely her own. Death would not claim her, not yet. He would do everything in his power to see that she lived to a ripe old age.

  As the beat of his heart normalized, he gently lifted her in his arms, then walked to a bench nestled in amongst the hay and candles. "Sit here for a moment."

  Wisps of their warm breath curled in the air. Silence surrounded them. He dressed quickly, then returned to her side with her clothing and slowly dressed her. And despite his efforts to take comfort in the flesh-and-blood woman who breathed beneath his fingertips, he continued to see her pain-filled visage in his mind.

  How could he protect her from death? How could he protect anyone?

  The Charm Stone.

  It could keep Rhiannon and all of his people safe from illness. He grasped onto the thought like a lifeline. He would have to trust that the Stone could help him banish the image of Rhiannon's death from his nightmares.

  But would it keep her safe from the truth about what he had done to her brothers? And what he might have done to her had his assassin succeeded? Camden stumbled in placing her gown over her head, enveloping Rhiannon in a sea of fabric. She laughed and tried to find her way out while he simply watched. Could she discover the truth about the assassin he'd hired? Should he just tell her? Would she hate him less if he did?