Rising Fire

by TERRI BRISBIN

Inside was more comfortable than he could have expected. It would not be high enough for him to stand straight, but Brienne would fit nicely. Thick, lined blankets lay in one corner, with more piled on top. A skin of liquid, some food and bread, and an unlit candle sat on a small stool that served as a table. It would do nicely.

  “See you both in the morn,” Roger said, and with a bow and a wink at Brienne, he walked whistling back up the path. Only when the sound and light disappeared over the hill did Will let out the laugh that he held inside.

  “Come. It will be warm inside.” He felt the slight hesitation in her body. “Surely you are not nervous over this small thing,” he said, kissing her on the mouth that beckoned him endlessly.

  “Small thing?” she asked.

  “Oh, aye, you have seen it.” He was teasing her, hoping to ease her nervousness. “We will do only what feels pleasurable to you. You remember how it felt that first time?” Her body shuddered. She remembered. “Let me show you that pleasure again.”

  She nodded and went into the tent as he held the flap open for her. Once he closed it, the enclosure grew warmer just by having them in it. When he reached for the candle, she placed her hand on his arm to stop him.

  “We do not need that,” she said.

  As he watched, she glowed, filling the tent with warmth and light. No need for candles at all. None at all when his wife could create fire, light, and heat with her thoughts alone. Remembering the hungry expression in her gaze when she’d found him naked in his bedchamber, he decided that was the best way to begin. Will reached up and loosened the ties of his tunic.

  “Wait!” she said, her voice a bit breathless. “I should undress my husband.”

  “I want no ‘should’ between us, Brienne,” he said, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “Only ‘would’ and ‘want.’”

  She leaned against his hand as he turned it to cup her face and stroke her cheek with his thumb. “I want to undress my husband,” she said.

  “Then do so, wife.” He relaxed his arms and waited on her.

  She reached up and untied the laces of his shirt. Then she took the hem of it and slid it up his body, pushing it over his head. Tossing it on the floor, Brienne turned her attention back to him, and he could feel her heated gaze touching his skin.

  He watched as she moved closer, studying his chest and his stomach, before she reached out and touched the curly hair on it. She lightly grazed it, sending waves of sensation through his skin. He stood motionless as she traced the outline of his male nipples with her finger. But he lost his ability to breathe when he saw the tip of her tongue and realized her intention.

  Imitating his own caress of her breasts, she stroked with her hands while her tongue licked the sensitive skin. Pleasure coursed through his blood then, and his body grew hard and ready for her. Her mouth moved over his chest, tasting and licking his skin, but her hands did not rest idly by. She embraced him, sliding her hands around to his back and then down until she held him as he’d held her.

  “You have too many garments on, wife,” he said. It came out sounding like a plea.

  “Worry not, husband,” she said. “I am not done undressing you yet.” Meeting her gaze, he noticed that she was brighter, as though more light and fire raced through her blood. He worried then, not at her power but at the wicked glimmer in her gaze as she came closer to him.

  She moved around him then, kissing and licking her way to his back. Her hands continued to touch and stroke him, and he let his head fall back, enjoying every touch, every caress. If it pleased her to pleasure him, he would, he decided, allow her. But he questioned the wisdom of that very thing when her hands slid around his waist and began working on the ties of his trews.

  “Brienne, love,” he whispered, placing his hands on hers to stop her. He learned the foolishness of his intention when she let the fire in her heat her skin, burning him long enough that he let go.

  It took little effort for her to unlace him and allow his prick out, for it stood hard, long, and begging for her touch. She leaned her face on his back and slid her hands under the fabric, pushing it down away from his waist and over his hips. Brienne took hold of his flesh and sighed against his skin as it lengthened in her grasp.

  He was going to spill his seed if she continued to touch him and make those noises that she probably did not even hear. But he did. They echoed through his body, increasing the need within him. “Brienne,” he whispered harshly as she stroked his needy flesh. “Brienne.”

  She moved again, slowly releasing him and coming around to stand before him. She studied his erection much as she had that first night, and his hardness twitched under her gaze. But when she licked her lips and leaned over closer to it, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her up to his mouth.

  And ravished her there. His tongue thrust deep until she suckled it the way he’d shown her. He undressed her without even lifting his mouth from hers, and when her naked skin was against his, she seemed to melt into him. William scooped her up and carried her to the blankets. She sighed as he laid her there and came down on top of her.

  The warblood inside him urged to conquer, to take, to have, pushing power into his blood and pushing his body to change. But William tempered the warrior and contained him as he loved his mate, his love, his wife.

  She felt him struggling to keep his warblood inside, much as she was barely holding on to the fire within her. Each touch, each caress, each kiss pushed her closer and closer to losing control and bursting into flames. But as he controlled himself, so did she. She held tightly to the boiling power as he unleashed a different kind of heat on her body and her heart.

  Brienne had thought she knew what to expect, but when his goal was unlimited, unrelenting pleasure that would end with them as one, she lost the ability to think and almost forgot to breathe as he began his attack. And it was an attack—on her senses, on her skin, on every part of her—as he began using his mouth and tongue and teeth and hands as the weapons they were.

  Her skin burned as he rubbed his face down her breasts and across her belly. She arched as her body throbbed in anticipation of what was to come. Knowing the waves of pleasure that would result from his hands, she urged him on.

  “Impatient now that you’ve remembered, love?” He laughed deeply in his throat as he raised his head and looked at her.

  His mouth now poised so close to the place between her legs that she grew wet just seeing him there. When he moved to kneel between her legs, her flesh between them tingled with want. He stroked her legs, taking her ankles and guiding them apart. Then he kissed and tasted his way along each leg as she gasped and shook from the sheer pleasure of each touch.

  He reached the top and she waited, waited for what he would do next, and when he did nothing, she rose onto her elbows and looked at him. Wicked did not do justice for the expression on his face now as he leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh. He glanced at her once more and then licked the other side before putting his mouth fully on the place that ached the most.

  She screamed then and fell back, part of her wanting to pull away from such intensity and the other part wanting to rock against his mouth. The other part won out. She pressed against his hot mouth, and his tongue darted along the swelling folds. Her body shuddered with each caress, and he laughed against her—the sound and feel of it going into her blood.

  When he teased with his teeth, nipping to make it ache more and licking to soothe it, she reached down for him, sliding her fingers in his long hair. He did not slow. Using his fingers to open her, he dipped into her with his tongue, sucking in the moisture that flowed from her body. She could not breathe then, only feel as he took control of her body and soul.

  He slid his tongue along the folds up until he touched a spot with its tip that sent her reeling, shaking and keening out his name as he pushed her free of any control she had and into some mindless creatu
re of his doing.

  “Come for me, love. Let go. Let go,” he urged.

  And she did.

  Flying free as her body came undone under his sensual assault, she could feel herself shattering and being remade from the pieces. Over and over, breaking and forming, breaking and forming, until she was empty and then refilled in the next instant.

  She was panting in shallow breaths and still throbbing when he moved over her, spreading her legs wider and seating his body there. Brienne felt his hardness and knew that this was the moment that they would become one. She opened her eyes and met his.

  She had no idea of how beautiful she was to him. It almost hurt to stare into her eyes when she was still shaking with pleasure, but seeing the love in her gaze captured him. Will slid a hand down between their bodies to spread the folds and find the place that would stoke her desire again. Her body reacted to his every touch.

  She moaned, low and deep, and rocked against his hand as he stroked her heated flesh, readying her to accept him inside her. When her hips rose with each caress, he lifted his and placed his cock at her opening.

  “Brienne,” he whispered. “Open for me, love,” he urged. Then, as she opened, relaxing her legs, he pressed into her. Not gently, but a constant movement, inch by inch, until he was buried deep.

  Home.

  He waited, gathering his crumbling control and waiting for her body to adjust to his invasion. When she rocked her hips and gasped, he knew she was ready for the rest of it. Easing out of her, he stroked back in, using his cock to rub against the walls of her channel. She gasped and then began to moan as her body became wild beneath his.

  “Put your legs up here,” he said, guiding them up to his hips. “Hold on to me, love. Hold on.”

  Will began slowly thrusting in and sliding out, alternating deeper and harder with slower and gentler, his own muscles hardening and urging him on. His bollocks tightened, and he knew he would spill his seed soon. Leaning down, he kissed her hard and deep.

  When he opened his eyes, she whispered to him. “Bring on your warblood, husband,” she urged in the husky voice of arousal. “Bring him now.”

  His vision had gone red and he had not realized it. He thrust harder then, aching to be part of her flesh, craving the feel of her tightening around his cock. Every part of him wanted her, wanted to conquer her, take, have, possess. He gave in to her begging sobs and took her, until she screamed out and fell apart under him.

  He felt every wave of pleasure as it moved through her. Every muscle, every spasm as her body took his release until he was empty. He inhaled her; he exhaled her. Then they breathed as one. Their hearts beat as one, in time with the other until he could not tell which was his or hers. Their flesh, filled and filling, throbbed as their releases eased.

  He could not move. He did not wish to. Ever.

  The fireblood belonged to the warblood.

  Mine. Mine. Only mine, the creature chanted.

  She was his mate.

  Brienne was his.

  He drifted off a bit, undone by her reaction and the complete satisfaction he felt. He felt the laugh rather than heard it as she answered him deep in his mind.

  As you are mine.

  * * *

  The night passed much too quickly for his liking. The only thing that comforted him was knowing she was and would be his for a long time. After the first time, he rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms, holding her and listening to her breathe in her sleep.

  He would have been content, feeling lighter and more at ease than he had in years. He would have been fine if she had not shimmied herself closer to him and sighed. Thinking her asleep, he’d ignored the call of his flesh. Then she arched her bottom against it, and he gave up fighting it.

  You will be sore.

  I will be fine, he heard.

  You have no idea what I want to do to you now that I have you. He let several things float in his thoughts, ways he wanted to take her, things he had not yet done with or to her.

  Her body answered for her, pressing against him and rocking her hips until he lifted her to her knees and showed her one thing that he wanted to do. This time her release came quietly in a long series of gasps as her flesh gripped his and milked him dry.

  When daybreak finally broke into their haven, William was not certain he would survive her having him if every night were like this one.

  Chapter 27

  Marcus and Roger watched as the couple walked back into the camp. They laughed at the bawdy comments thrown their way by his friends. The bride blushed at every one, more likely now to understand their meanings than before.

  Warblood and fireblood joined, now in heart, mind, body, and soul. He watched as they did not need to say words to speak to each other. This was a blessing from the gods and would be helpful in the coming battles.

  Marcus had no doubt that this would not end easily. Roger, the warblood’s man, agreed. For, in spite of his resistance and in spite of Marcus’s lack of battle skills or experience, Roger de Bardem and he had forged a truce.

  Now they each had bad news to deliver to William.

  They walked first to the fire, where they accepted a bowl of porridge and then they greeted him and Roger. Marcus invited them to sit, sending a few men down to pack the tent so they could leave soon.

  “The others arrived late last night, Will,” Roger reported. “None are happy that they missed the fight.” William’s gaze narrowed for a moment while he listened to Roger’s words.

  “What are you not telling me, Roger?”

  “How the hell do you do that, Will?”

  “If you really want to know, I can smell it. Your smell changes as you try to hide something.”

  From Roger’s expression, Marcus thought the man probably had not wanted to know. He wanted to laugh but held it back because he knew the rest of it. Before Roger spoke a word, William turned his head to face Brienne. She took his hand and held it tightly against her. Then she nodded. William stared at her for several minutes and then turned back to his friend.

  He already knew the worst of it.

  “The king is dead,” Roger said softly. “He fell from his horse in the middle of a storm. They found him the next morning dead.”

  No one spoke then as they watched William struggle with the news. His father the king was dead. Enough of his men knew the truth that it took little time to comprehend it. Natural sons, and daughters, were common enough and nothing unusual among the nobles and royals. Alexander, he’d been told, never suffered an empty bed or a lack of offspring—except for the legitimate, living kind needed to inherit the throne.

  “You knew, Brienne?” he asked.

  “Aye. Lord Hugh told me that he was going to kill the king as part of his plan to unleash chaos even before the goddess does.”

  “And I knew he was in danger. I told his royal commander to be on watch for an attack. Where did this accident happen, Roger? Do you know?”

  “They said he fell off the cliff at Kinghorn in Fife.”

  Marcus had not seen much of the country of Scotland yet so he did not understand the suspicious tone in Roger’s voice. “Is that unusual?” he asked.

  “There are no cliffs in Kinghorn, Marcus. Only straight, level roads and a beach.”

  William glanced over at Brienne. “A part of his plan that was successful.”

  “I am so sorry, William,” she said, kissing his hand then.

  William sat in silence for a few moments, and Marcus allowed him this short time to grieve. Another casualty in the evil one’s war to bring chaos to the world. A dead king without a clear, viable heir would do that. There was a young granddaughter, offspring of a now-dead daughter, but she was not more than a bairn, and so many things could happen to wee ones.

  “Marcus?” William broke his silence. “And your news?”

  He
could not help the smile this time. The warblood had some sharp abilities, including the ability to detect the truth by odors. It was but one that he would discover if the old legends and stories were true and accurate.

  “The gods spoke to us last night while you . . . ” He did not finish that. “Aislinn interpreted the signs and the words and knows where the next circle is located.”

  “North, based on the direction Hugh escaped in.”

  “Aye. In the Norse isles to the north. Orkney.”

  William nodded. “And the rest of it, if you please. I would know what we are up against.”

  “If we know, then so does he,” Aislinn said from behind William. “He took one of our priests with him when he escaped. Devyn.”

  “Alive?” William asked.

  “Aye. For now.”

  William began to pace around their small group. Marcus knew he was searching for a solution, but he did not know their ways.

  “Can you break your connection with him?” he asked.

  “No,” Aislinn said.

  “Aye,” he replied. At Aislinn’s startled glance, he nodded. “There is a way.”

  “Marcus, please,” she begged as she walked to him. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “You know it will mean his death. Do not do this. I beg you.”

  “Aislinn,” William began, taking her hand in his and making her look at him. “He will not be alone in his death. Some have gone ahead of him and others, many others who will follow us will follow him into it. But his death will be empty if he dies at Hugh’s hands without purpose.”

  Marcus watched Aislinn’s tears spill over, and Brienne went to her to comfort her. Whatever she whispered to Aislinn made the difference, for she nodded to her and then at Marcus.

  “How do we accomplish this?” William asked again.

  “We must break the ties we have among ourselves and weave another in its place.”

  “Another connection? Between . . . ?”

  Marcus considered it for a moment and then glanced at those around him now. “I think we should try to form a link among us, though I suspect it will not work with Roger. No magic, you know.” He could not help but tweak at the man.