She frowned, thinking he would be angry with her. ‘I’m not trying to leave, if that’s what you think,’ she replied, immediately on the defensive.
‘I didn’t think that,’ he said. ‘I know how important it is for you to find your brother.’ In the moonlight, his eyes were solid silver.
‘I was so hot!’ she explained softly. ‘This padded tunic, this hood, I feel so constrained by it all! I couldn’t sleep and I thought…I thought if I could go down to the water, and dip my toes in, wash my face, I would feel a lot better. I suppose you think it’s a ridiculous idea! But no one would see. I was going to make sure I was far enough downriver.’
Balancing lightly on his heels, Gilan laughed. His teeth flashed white in the moonlight, giving him a devilish look. Her heart flipped, skipping a beat, her nostrils inhaling the heady scent of him: rich leather mingling with woodsmoke, and the tangy, clean smell of the river.
‘I don’t think it’s a ridiculous idea. I have done the exact same thing.’ His blond hair was saturated, darkened to a tarnished gold, water droplets clinging to the lobes of his ears, flashing like gemstones.
‘You went swimming!’ The words burst out of her, outraged, jealous.
He chuckled softly at her protest. ‘No need to sound so envious.’ Lines of water trickled from the ends of his hair across his tunic, glistening thread in the moonlight. ‘You were obviously intending to do the same thing.’
‘I was,’ she gasped, shifting her gaze longingly towards the river, ‘but now you’re going to stop me.’
He paused, drinking in the beauty of her face, the luscious pink curve of her bottom lip. It would be so easy, so easy to march her back to the camp, to deny her what she so obviously craved. But he couldn’t do that. He wanted her to have the wonderful feeling of the cool water against her skin, even if it was only to dip her toes in. ‘No, Matilda, I am not going to stop you.’ Shaking his head, he straightened up, holding out his hand. ‘But I am going to go with you. I can take you to a safe spot.’
She gaped at him, astounded by his offer. Her heart soared, picking up speed, anticipation rippling. His sinewy fingers hovered in the air between them and she bit her lip, fighting the urge to seize his hand. If she touched him, she knew what would happen. The same familiar lurch in her chest, the slow coil of heat in her loins. The thwarted burn of desire buried deep in a secret place, frustrated, desperate for release. Pretending she hadn’t seen his offer of help, she scrambled clumsily to her feet, unaided.
Following his broad back in and out of the trees, she watched the play of muscles across his shoulders as he walked. He must have left his tunic back at the camp, and now wore only his shirt and trousers, thick leather sword belt slung low about his slim hips. The gemstones in the hilt of his sword glinted in the dim light. Breaking out from the shelter of the trees, the moonlight striking his gilded head, he led her on to a small gravelly beach. ‘I found this earlier,’ he said.
The crystalline surface reflected the round, yellowish globe of the moon. Water slipped and gurgled against the stones along the shoreline, the sound occasionally broken by the isolated screech of an owl, high up in the trees. A breeze had picked up over the water, ruffling the surface like stitches gathering fabric.
‘Oh, Lord,’ she murmured, ‘what a beautiful spot.’ Her fingers drifted to her tunic hood and she shoved it back, relishing the balmy air against her cheek.
‘Go on, then,’ urged Gilan. Her hood gathered in lumpy folds at the nape of her neck, the fabric’s coarse weave highlighting the delicate silk of her skin. The urge to reach out and touch her, to run his big thumb along the fine line of her jaw tingled at his fingers.
She hugged her arms about her body, skipping from one foot to the other like an excited child. ‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll sit here, on the bank. Keep watch.’ He stuck his thumbs into his sword belt with an ironclad determination. He needed to keep his hands to himself.
‘You need to turn your back.’ She placed two hands on her hips, glared at him fiercely, then realised the foolishness of her maidenly outrage. It wouldn’t matter if he saw her stark naked; he had no interest in her that way. Misery bit at her heart.
He lifted his eyebrows. ‘I thought you said you only wanted to dip your toes in.’
No, she wanted to swim! She wanted to rip off these horrible clothes and immerse herself completely! But if she told him that, he would certainly stop her for fear of being seen by Henry.
‘I…I might take this tunic off, wash my neck and shoulders,’ she hedged, blushing, ‘and I can’t have you watching if I do that.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘But make it quick. I’ll stand back in the trees over there.’ Striding briskly away, back to the place where large branches overhung the beach, he propped his right flank against the large trunk of an oak tree, staring out towards the direction from which they had come.
As soon as his back was turned, Matilda grabbed the hem of her tunic and pulled upwards, yanking the hated fabric from her slight figure. Kicking off the unwieldy boots, she released the belt on her trousers, the fabric pooling around her bare feet. Clad only in her short chemise, she made her way tentatively out into the river, little stones sharp against her bare heels. The water rose against her body as she waded in, until she was up to her waist, her chemise billowing out like a white wave around her hips. She closed her eyes at the sheer pleasure, a whisper of delight springing from her lips at the breeze against her heated face, the tantalising slip of water against her flesh.
Uncaring now, she tore at the pins and leather laces binding her hair, releasing the tight braids. She would keep the pins and laces safe, clutched in one fist. Her hair fanned down around her, silky, the glossy ends floating momentarily upon the surface of the water before she sank, down, down, submerging completely. She rose up again, water streaming from her shoulders, hair like dark ropes plastered across her bosom and stomach, and laughed aloud with pure joy, the sound tinkling out merrily across the water.
Steadfastly keeping his eyes averted, Gilan scowled. Although they were some way from Henry’s camp, Matilda ought to be more careful. Sound travelled farther and faster across water, especially at night when the land was quiet. He could hear her splashing about now—what the hell was she doing? Surely it didn’t take this long to wash her face and neck?
He would steal a quick glance. She should almost be finished by now and with any luck would have her tunic firmly back in place.
Moonlight glistened across the water, the whole surface milk-white satin. His eye skirted back and forth, from the point where the shallow water lapped the shore to the middle of the river. Heart plummeting, he broke from the tree, running forwards. He couldn’t see her! Boots crunching heavily across the sparse gravel, he reached the pile of clothes.
All her clothes—boots, leggings, tunic!
His chin jolted up and she was there, a few yards out, her neat head carving a path through the still water—Dear God! he thought. She’s swimming!
‘Matilda!’ he hissed across to her, resisting the temptation to wade in fully clothed and pull her out himself. ‘Get out! Now!’
She twisted her head round and saw him standing next to her clothes. Fear laced through her. ‘What is it?’ she called out, tentatively, not wanting her voice to be heard by anyone else but him. Treading water, she searched the beach behind him, thinking someone had discovered them.
‘Get out of there!’ he growled at her. Little witch! Wash her face and neck indeed! No doubt she’d been planning this all along.
Hearing the urgency in his voice, she panicked. Someone must be coming! Diving forwards, she swam strongly until her knees bumped against the bottom. Staggering upwards, she clambered to her feet, glancing hurriedly past Gilan’s tall figure. Was someone coming? Water streamed down from her hair, filling her eyes and nose, making it diffic
ult to see.
Riveted to the spot, Gilan realised he had made a terrible mistake. Defences crumbled, flicked away like smoking ash on a lazy breeze.
Matilda rose out of the water like a siren of the sea, some enchanted water nymph intent on casting her spell. Bundles of thick, luscious hair straggled like seaweed across her shoulders, sticking to the slim indent of her waist, following the tempting curve of her hips. Sagging with water, the neckline of her chemise dipped downwards, revealing the shadowed cleft between her breasts. Her nipples pressed against the gauzy material, dark round aureoles.
Desire smacked into him with the force of a spear, harassing his blood, blistering his innards with a raging fire. Breath stuck in his throat. Frozen to the spot, he was unable to move, unable to think. All thoughts of Henry and his soldiers, all thoughts of their own safety were chased away by the mesmerising sight of Matilda.
As she moved forwards, water cascaded down from her slight figure. Droplets clung to her pearly white skin, like spangles of light, her thin shift clinging to the rounded push of her bosom, the juncture of her thighs, the long slender line of her legs. An unstoppable heat coursed through Gilan’s body, flooding his loins, his chest, a starburst of yearning, as his mind scrabbled desperately for stability, for some hint of self-restraint.
‘No…go back!’ he croaked, willing his mind to take control. But it seemed his body had set against him, lust surging along his veins like a tide, inexorable, flames licking at his heart. Control unravelled, rolling from his grasp like a ball of string.
Intent on reaching her pile of clothes before she was caught wearing only her undergarments, Matilda failed to hear him, wading purposefully through the shallows. A jagged stone pinched cruelly at the soft underside of one of her feet and she lurched forwards unsteadily, about to fall.
Instinctively Gilan reached out, caught her beneath her forearms. Her sleeves bunched up at her elbows, wet and cloying; her skin beneath the rough pads of his fingers was fine, like gossamer cobweb. At her throat, a pulse knocked hurriedly against gleaming skin. A fresh smell drifted from her, mingling with the sweetness of lavender.
‘God in Heaven—’ the words punched out of him on a snared breath, his restraint in tatters ‘—why didn’t you go back into the water?’ His heart bumped erratically against his chest wall.
‘But you told me to come out,’ she whispered hurriedly, conscious that his hands still supported her, warm and tight. ‘Are we in any danger?’
You are, he thought. You are in danger from me. His tanned fingers clasped around her arms, pressing into her smooth, luscious flesh. A faint voice nagged at the back of his brain: remove your hands, step away now, step back…
He smashed down on the warning, not wanting to hear it.
Sparkles of water clung to her long eyelashes, glittering like precious jewels; her eyes were huge, the dark irises reflecting the moonlight, the faintest line of a frown caught on her brow as she peered at him, warily.
With one thumb, he smoothed away the soaking tendril of hair that stuck to her cheek, his fingers moving decisively to cup her chin. ‘You should never have gone swimming,’ he murmured, his voice unsteady. ‘I should never have let you go.’ His expression was raw, intense.
‘Gilan, what is it? Has something happened?’ Pleasure shook her limbs at his touch and she fought the urge to turn her head, to press her lips into the warm palm of his hand.
‘Not yet,’ he growled. ‘Run away now, Matilda, if you know what’s good for you.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ she murmured softly, ‘Neither Henry or his soldiers are here—who would I be running from?’
‘From me,’ he ground out. The jewelled granite of his eyes glittered down. ‘Do you have any idea what you are doing to me? You stand there in your damp shift, inches away…you need to push me away, now.’
A slow shiver built within her belly. ‘I don’t want to push you away,’ she replied, truthfully.
‘Matilda, do you know what you are saying?’ His words emerged as a long groan.
She nodded shakily. She knew and she welcomed it. A glorious feeling of pleasure suffused her body.
In reply his arms snaked around her, sinewy ropes jamming her slender frame hard against the long, solid length of him. He dipped his head, warm mouth slanting across hers, roaming against her soft lips. Under the questing play of his mouth, her limbs liquefied, melting into the brawny outline of the man before her. Instinct drove her. Arching her arms upwards, she dug her fingers into the vigorous strands of his hair, smoothing one hand down the powerful cords at the back of his neck, wanting to drag him closer, wanting more of him.
Working his hands up the delicate bones of her spine, he braced his palms on either side of her cheeks, deepening the kiss, his tongue flicking along the fragile line of her mouth, seductive, inquisitive. She gasped as the tumult ricocheted into her and clung desperately to him, rocked by the unstoppable sensations. She dropped her hands to clasp his waist, to winch him closer. The frantic bump of her heart thrilled her, scared her. Beneath his searching hands, Gilan urged her towards a place hitherto unknown to her, a landscape of dark, secret desire, of unbridled passion. A land she yearned to discover.
Together, they sank to the stony beach, Gilan ripping at his clothes, casting them aside, uncaring as to whether they landed in the water or not. The river lapped at their bare toes as they fell on the stones, rolling together. His eyes had darkened to black pools of desire, dangerous and wild, as he crushed her to him, hip to hip, belly to belly. Breath seized in her lungs as the lean, naked length of him folded against her, hard muscle pressing into soft curves.
He pushed at the sopping fabric of her chemise, the ties at her bosom coming adrift easily beneath his fingers, until one creamy shoulder was exposed, shining like the inside of an oyster shell beneath the pearly moonlight. Bending his head, his dampened hair tickling her chin, he dropped a line of kisses along her collarbone, then lower. Her insides squeezed with delight; she cried aloud, thinking she would die beneath the chaotic feelings striking her skin.
‘Gilan…I…’ She thought she would explode beneath his touch, the pulsating storm of need, of yearning, amassing forcefully within her. Her diaphragm quivered, then tightened with sweet awareness, excitement flowing like boiling honey within her.
He moved over her. Cascading rivulets of sweet-edged terror pulsed through her at the thrilling proximity of his naked flesh, the scorching brand of his need hard against her thigh. His lips seized hers once more, before she had time to think, to question, roving across her mouth, teasing and tantalising as his hand shifted up beneath the damp hem of her chemise, up, up, along the satiny length of her thigh to the very core of her womanhood.
‘Gilan…’ she gasped, as his fingers ventured where no man had been before. Reason fled, chased away by his questing hand, as her mind sunk down into a churning whirlpool of passion, her body buffeted by enormous waves of pleasure. Her muscles tensed, her body a taut bowstring about to snap, as he slowly moved into her, easing his way through tender folds. Her hands flared outwards, at the bewildering onslaught, scrabbling for purchase, then clung to his face, holding fast to the fierce glitter of his eyes, her only anchor in the face of the oncoming storm.
He surged into her then, his body overwhelmed by a passion that took him by surprise. The flimsy barrier of her innocence checked him for a moment, before he filled her completely, utterly. Consumed by him, Matilda barely had time to protest against the painful sting of his possession, his gentle movements replacing the mild ache with a swelling, eddying fullness. He moved within her, slowly at first, before gathering momentum, faster and faster. She moved with him, delighting in his increasing rhythm, matching his powerful thrusts with a blissful eagerness of her own. Her eyelids fluttered down, the conscious part of her mind barely functioning as desire rippled through her, breaching all defences, th
reatening to overtake—nay, overwhelm her! Breath ripped from her lungs, hurried, frantic, as a boiling, surging wave broke the very innards of her flesh. White-hot needles of light exploded in her brain, a chaotic whirlpool, a storm of scattering stars.
She cried out then, as Gilan pounded into her, fingers wound into her hair, and the taut straining skin that held them split with scorching violence, unbridled waves of pleasure hurtling through her body, again and again, leaving her gasping, spent. Reaching his own peak, Gilan threw his head back, shuddering in tandem with the woman beneath him.
‘Sweet Mother of God!’ he yelled out, as Matilda’s fingers dug into his shoulders, and he collapsed on top of her, heavy, sated and alive.
Chapter Sixteen
Washed in the soft, lambent glow of the moon, they lay there, parcelled tight in each other’s arms, rapid breath slowly subsiding. The sheen of sweat across their naked flesh gradually dissipated into the balmy air. A sweet, strength-sapping languor stole through their bodies, replacing the reckless rush of blood, the thunderous surge of lovemaking. The river lapped at their bare feet, Matilda’s small pink toes resting on Gilan’s rough-haired calves.
Waves of fading pleasure licking his flesh, Gilan gazed up at the millions of stars twinkling above his head, amazed, astounded by what had happened between them. Matilda’s slender frame rested along his right flank, fitting snugly up against his waist, her head nestled into his neck and one arm flung out across his chest. Her damp hair smelt of the river: vital, invigorating. How could he have known? How could he have predicted that this beautiful, stubborn bundle of femininity could have made him feel so whole, so complete again? He hadn’t known such serenity, such calmness since before Pierre’s death. Torn apart by grief, his soul had become ragged, threadbare; being with Matilda had begun to stitch the gaping seams together. She had given herself to him, utterly and freely, with no consideration to the consequences, driving him to a point where he had lost control, and lost himself. His mind had emptied, cleared of all past, all memory; all that had mattered in that single moment had been her, Matilda, the woman in his arms. He had forgotten who he was.
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