by Josie Litton
“What troubles you?” Hawk asked suddenly.
Drawn back to the moment, she looked at him in surprise. “Nothing. I was just thinking how different this is from Vestfold.”
He hesistated, as though tempted to drop the subject, but instead said, “I didn't mean just now. I meant these last few days. Since Dragon was here, something has made you unhappy.”
She stared at him, so startled that he had made such a connection that she had no idea of what to say.
“Are you homesick?” Hawk asked. “Did his coming here remind you of the home you left?”
“No! That is, I truly did not think of it. I am not homesick.”
He sighed deeply and ran a hand through thick curls. So distracted was she by the glint of sun off them that she almost missed what he said next. “Then it is this betrothal that saddens you.”
Krysta shook her head in bewilderment. She could not fathom his thoughts, perhaps because the mere fact that he had been thinking about her feelings astounded her. That he had, in the process, come to a stunningly wrong conclusion only added to her perplexity.
“I am not sad about our betrothal. I thought you regretted it.”
It was Hawk's turn to be surprised. “Me? How did you come to think that?”
She could not meet his eyes. As he watched, her cheeks darkened. He glanced down at her slender hands on the rudder and saw that the knuckles shone white against the honey tones of her skin. Such very lovely, soft skin …
Abruptly, a memory rose. Waking the night of the storm, seeing Krysta beside him … seeing her clearly despite the darkness. Seeing because a brazier glowed beside the bed. A brazier that had not been lit when first he came into the room.
She knew.
“I see …” he said slowly. “Obviously, an apology is owed you. I should not have done as I did.”
She looked at him for all the world as though he spoke in a tongue she could not comprehend. “Do we speak of the same thing? The night of the storm, you …”
“I shared your bed. But I did you no harm and if you were frightened or offended, I am truly sorry.” He fell silent for a moment, remembering. The lit brazier. She must have done that and in the doing, seen him. Why then had she returned to the bed … unclad? A possibility teased at the edge of his mind, tempting him. Gently, going very carefully, he asked, “Were you frightened or offended, Krysta? Or did you by chance have other feelings I didn't recognize?”
She answered so softly that he had to strain to hear her over the song of the wind. “A lady of true worth would not have such feelings.”
The back of his neck prickled, the same way it would do on a battlefield when someone right behind him was about to split his head open with an ax. Then the appropriate response was simple and straightforward—if necessarily brutal. Now he had to go much more cautiously.
“You think a lady shouldn't have feelings?”
She darted a quick look at him before turning away. “Proper feelings, certainly, at the proper time and place. She should be … restrained.”
He thought of how she had kissed him in the stable and spared a moment's fervent thanks that such restraint was foreign to her nature.
“I think you have an odd idea of what makes a lady.”
He was beginning to smile broadly at the realization that her chagrin came not from what he had done but from what he had not. What a fool he had been not to think of that sooner, and how much more pleasant these last few days would have been for both of them if he had. But done was done. It was now that mattered.
“A lady is merely a woman of property and position,” he said. “Nothing more or less. To be a lady says naught about what is in a woman's heart.” He leaned closer and put his hand over hers on the rudder. “Nor does it say what should be in her heart. That is for her to decide.”
Her eyes as they met his were doe-wide. She did not protest when he turned them downwind. The sail billowed, snapping in the stiff offshore breeze. They raced over the water glinting with the captured treasure of sunlight. Gulls circled overhead and a startled porpoise raised its head to watch. Krysta gasped when she saw a small island coming up swiftly directly ahead, but Hawk's hand tightened on hers and they deftly steered around it with almost no loss of speed. The wind changed direction slightly but he seemed to sense it before it happened and maneuvered so adroitly that the sail never sagged. Quickly, she realized that he close-hauled with steely skill, something she rarely dared to do. Sailing so close to the wind brought special challenges and dangers, but he clearly thrived on both. With a start, she realized that just perhaps she did, too, for never had she enjoyed a sail more.
“Does anyone ever race you?” she asked, vividly conscious of the warmth and strength of his hand over hers.
Hawk laughed and she felt the movement of his chest against her back. “Wolf and Dragon will, no one else. They win half the time, too.” He sounded pleased, as though he relished true competition.
“What about you?” he asked. “How did you learn to sail?”
“My father taught me. We used to go out together whenever he came to visit.”
“Was that often?”
“As often as he could. Between his visits, I would go out by myself. He didn't know that, though. I think he would have worried.”
The thought of her as a child sailing alone along a coast the Danes had been known to raid before the Wolf of Sciringesheal established his iron hold over it made Hawk frown. “Did no one even try to rein you in?”
She turned her head to look at him and was startled to discover how very near he was. So near that she could see the fine etching of lines around his light blue eyes and at the corners of his firm mouth. His skin was sun burnished and smoothly shaven. He smelled of soap and the sea. Her mouth was suddenly very dry.
“I am not a mare, my lord,” she said softly. “There are no reins on me.”
He reached around and took the rudder with both hands. She was effectively trapped within the circle of his arms. His breath was warm on her cheek, sending a delicate shiver down her back. “Then I suppose I'll have to resort to persuasion,” he said and caught her mouth with his.
His kiss was swift and hard, leaving her breathless. He broke off abruptly and gave his attention to the boat. Several moments passed before Krysta realized that she had sagged back against him. She tried to straighten up but he stopped her with the light pressure of his arms. Belatedly, she realized she had no desire to move.
They turned in toward a golden strand of shore fronting an isolated bay. Hawk lowered the sail, stepped into the water and pulled the boat up onto the sand. Krysta was about to get out when he caught her around the waist, lifting her easily, and drew her close. The touch of his body all along the length of hers made her tremble.
Slowly, he slid her down until her feet brushed the sand. She thought he meant to kiss her again, and was awaiting just that with more eagerness than she cared to admit, when he let go of her suddenly and reached into the boat.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, hefting a small sack.
Was she? She had absolutely no idea. “I suppose Where had the food come from? She hadn't noticed him carrying anything when they went down to the boat.
He saw the question in her eyes and grinned abashedly. “I asked Aelfgyth to tuck something away for us.”
His thoughtfulness touched her even if it did mean that by now everyone at Hawkforte likely knew of their excursion. After living amid so few for so long, she was beginning to realize how precious privacy really was.
Hawk shook out a blanket, placed it on the sand, and set the sack on it. Straightening, he glanced at Krysta where she still stood, watching him. Gently, he said, “I don't bite, you know.”
Her cheeks warmed. She supposed she looked very silly to him but her sudden self-consciousness was almost as uncomfortable as her overwhelming awareness of him. He was so tall, so perfectly formed, so male … so everything. He seemed to leave her scant room even to draw breath.
“Would you like to go swimming?” he asked.
It came to her then that he was seeking some way to put her at ease. How many men would go to such trouble? How many would spend a day away from the pressing demands of their duty to calm a fractious betrothed? Her heart warmed and she found herself smiling.
“Do you see that rock over there?” she asked, pointing to a large boulder jutting above the water several hundred yards beyond the shore. When he nodded, she reached for the laces of her gown. “I'll bet I get there first.”
He stared at her in astonishment for a moment before his face split in a broad grin. “I'll take that bet. We can discuss the stakes later.”
She laughed and tugged off her gown, feeling perfectly well covered in her shift. It did not occur to her that the angle of the sun shining through it rendered the fine linen all but transparent. Such did not escape the attention of the Hawk. He was sufficiently distracted to still be tugging off his boots when Krysta dived neatly into the water. She surfaced a good twenty yards off shore, pausing just long enough to glance back at him before heading for her objective.
He followed swiftly, hesitating only a moment before tossing off his tunic. Best she become accustomed to him. Having seen her swim before, he knew better than to give any quarter. Even so, he only just managed to reach her while she was yet a few yards from winning. His longer and more powerful legs gave him the advantage and he touched the rock scant moments before she did.
“You could have won,” he said, treading water and grinning at her chagrined expression. He gestured to the cloth floating about her. “That weighed you down.”
“What about your tunic?” Belatedly, she realized her mistake. He laughed at her sudden flush and followed as she turned back to shore. She was almost there and about to stand up when she stopped abruptly and sank back down into the water.
Hawk stopped, too, in water that came to his waist. “Is something wrong?”
“No! That is, everything's fine. I just don't want to come out yet.”
A suspicion formed in his mind and with it came a smile. She had her back to him but even so, he could glimpse the rosy smoothness of her skin through the linen made transparent by the water. He drew a little closer so that he could see her in profile. Judging by her expression, she was prepared to remain right where she was until she froze.
Hawk sighed. He spared a fond thought for the days when his relationships with women were simple, then put such memory aside for good and waded out of the water. He heard Krysta give a quick gulp but didn't look in her direction. The easier and more natural he was about all this, the sooner he thought she was likely to adjust.
Without bothering to dry himself off, for the air was warm, he picked up the blanket and returned to the water's edge. “Come on, now,” he said gently and held the blanket open for her to step into.
Slowly, not taking her eyes from him, she rose. Her arms were crossed in front of her breasts and her hair hung like a sleek mane over her shoulders. She took a step toward him and another. Only a few more and he would be able to enfold her in the blanket. What he would do after that, he wasn't absolutely sure. He had little experience with virgins. Unlike some men, he never sought them out. His first wife had left him with a marked preference for women who had long since shed their innocence without regret. But Krysta was … different. Or he had become different, he wasn't sure which it was. She aroused an odd mixture of feelings—desire, to be sure, but tenderness as well. There had been so little room in his life for gentler emotions that he wasn't sure how to cope with them. He could only try.
And in the trying, he waited patiently for her to come to him, to cover herself, to leave him with the problem of how to soothe her fears, calm her natural nervousness, coax her to trust him. She did not. Instead, she took a deep breath and dropped her arms. Her gaze never left his as she reached up and took hold of the top of the blanket. He thought she meant to wrap it around herself but she surprised him … yet again. He would have to become accustomed to that, he thought faintly, too absorbed in the watching of her to think much of anything at all. Her motions were spare and elegant, her expression grave as she neatly folded the blanket and handed it back to him. A soft flush stained her cheeks but she still did not look away. Bending down slightly, she lifted the hem of her shift and in a swift, graceful move, drew it over her head. It dangled from her hand as she tossed back her magnificent hair, took another breath, and said, “You were right. I would have won without this.”
“You have won,” Hawk said gruffly and gathered her to him. Her courage moved him as much as did her beauty. But more than anything, it was her honesty that struck to his core. Honesty to face her fears and admit her desires. He could do no less.
SHE WAS SHAKING WHEN HE LAID HER ON THE BLAN-ket and told herself it was from the chill of the water. But she knew better, knew she trembled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness at facing the mystery of a man. Yet was he truly so mysterious? Her eyes swept over him in the moment before he lowered himself to her and a wave of heat moved through her. Driven by a sudden impulse she could not deny, she reached up to him, cradling him in her arms.
He sighed deeply as skin touched skin, bringing a strange sense of homecoming, she thought, and sighed with him. Their breaths mingled, lips touching, mouths joining. She tasted and was tasted, relishing the discovery even more than she had in those moments in the storm-lit stable. He surrounded her with warmth and care, holding his weight above her until she tightened her arms, drawing him nearer, needing to feel the strength and power of him.
He ran a hand down the length of her, seeking, learning, over the full curve of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the chalice of her hips to her smooth flanks and back again, his thumb teasing her nipple until she made a low sound deep in her throat and arched against him.
Hawk shuddered with pleasure at her response. To hold such a woman in his arms, and she a virgin given to him as his betrothed, was more than he had ever imagined. Distant memories of disappointment and sorrow echoed one last time before they dissolved beneath the sheer impact of his relief. He took her mouth, drinking of her deeply. It was in his mind to go slowly, to do everything possible to assure her pleasure, but his mind wasn't working very well just then. Restraint eroded swiftly. If she would only be still … but no, he didn't want that and she wouldn't. She moved beneath him, her hips arching to his, her hands stroking, and made soft keening noises deep in her throat.
His spirit leaped in response yet he slowed all the same, finding himself driven to savor her. Her breasts were high and full, perfectly fitted to his hands. Beneath them, faint shadows traced along her rib cage. His mouth drifted down over the smoothness of her belly. She whimpered and yanked hard on his hair, wringing a laugh that turned to a groan when he tasted the essence of her. She went rigid in his arms and for a moment her hands pushed hard against his shoulders, struggling to unseat him. An instant later she melted, crying out softly as she fell back against the blanket.
Krysta opened her eyes to the cloudless helmet of heaven but did not see it. She could only hear the thudding of her own heart and feel the reverberations of ecstasy she had never known existed. Hawk moved above her and where she had not seen sun or sky, she saw him. Saw the man, solid and real, fierce and tender, so powerful that he could overwhelm her without effort, yet waiting … his eyes meeting hers, questioning.
A moment more she hesitated, her head tilting back, savoring the echoes of virgin pleasure taken without price. It was not enough. She reached out, her touch lingering over the contours of his massive shoulders and chest to his flat abdomen and beyond. Gently, she cupped him, feeling his heat and strength. Deep within her, joy stirred. She bent her legs, making a place for him, and felt him fit it perfectly.
“Krysta …”He lingered over her name as he lingered over her, going slowly, watching her every moment. His gaze never lessened, nor did hers, as he penetrated the virgin barrier, wincing as he did so as though the
pain was his. She saw that and her heart opened with her body. Clasping her to him, cradling his head against her breasts, she rushed toward the power unfolding within her and took him with her.
IT WAS AN INTERESTING THING, HAWK THOUGHT, TO get this far in a life filled with challenge and adventure, and realize he hadn't ever suspected what he was actually capable of experiencing. Pleasure certainly, he was no stranger to that, yet pleasure was but a faint taste of the soul-shattering ecstasy from which he was only slowly emerging. Interesting, too, to think at all, since for very long moments he was quite sure he had been capable of doing nothing of the sort. He turned his head, mildly surprised he could manage that as well, and saw Krysta lying beside him. Her eyes were closed, her mouth curved in a gentle smile. She looked well pleased with herself … and with him. He leaned on his side and stroked a finger along the damask curve of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open.
“I've got something for you,” he said. She looked surprised. He reached into the sack he'd brought along but kept what he withdrew from it concealed in his hand. “Close your eyes,” he directed. She did so but promptly tried to peer from beneath her lashes. “No peeking,” he chided and waited until she obliged.
Something teased at her nose. Krysta tried to wiggle it away but it was back in an instant. She flicked her hand at it, wondering what was taking so long. The gift itself mattered not at all, it was the notion that he had thought of such a thing. Added to all that had just happened, it heaped upon her dazed senses so much gladness as scarcely to be borne.
What was that tickling her nose? She forgot her promise, opened her eyes, and found herself staring at …
Her breath caught. A hair ribbon danced before her, a length of brushed velvet the exact shade of green as she knew her eyes to be. “Oh, Hawk …”
The way she said his name, that aching whisper of sheer delight, made his throat tighten. He wondered when the last time was anyone had given her a gift and felt a surge of gladness that he was the man to do it. As she twined the ribbon through her fingers, staring at it as though it were the loveliest thing she had ever seen, he reached back into the sack and drew out handfuls of hair ribbons, ribbons in every possible color, ribbons of velvet and rarest silk, embroidered ribbons and bejeweled ribbons showering down upon her like fragments of a rainbow.
