“A silly thing to ruin that merely to have me next to you for one night.” She turned away from him and shook her naked bottom purposefully in his direction before crawling under the furs. “Now, if you don’t mind, it has been a very long day, and I must be up early tomorrow.” Tucking the covers under her chin, she shut her eyes.
“Seems I failed to mention that this is a permanent arrangement.”
Her eyes flew open. “Oh no, you promised that I could go back to my cottage.”
“You can, of course, but there isn’t anything left of it.” He hurled the last piece of the wood frame into the fire. “There is no more of it than there is of the trundle bed. Stubborn as you are, I knew you would insist on returning, and I’m not going to allow you to starve to death. This is your home now.”
“But I passed by it this morning. I looked in the window.”
He shrugged. “Things change.”
“You’ve decided I’m to be your whore without even asking me?”
He pushed her back onto the mattress. Stripping her of the cover, his hands gripped her knees and pressed them up and out. He settled himself between her parted legs. His silken skin was heated from the fire. Her legs trembled, weakened from their first coupling. “Again? More than once in an evening?”
“Colin doesn’t have much stamina?”
“You are a bull-headed man.” She reached over and peeled back the coverlet to show him the pale pink stain that proved him the first.
“All those times you and Colin met?”
“’Twas only as friends. Our little group had diminished from three to two.”
“By God, a virgin?” He studied her intensely. “That explains why you were clinging to me like a panicked kitten.”
Christiana noticed for the first time the crescent marks where her nails had bit into the skin of his arm.
“But you allowed me such liberties.” The man seemed truly astonished by her revelation.
She could only shrug. Her body had reacted to his as if by instinct. Perhaps a virgin was supposed to accept with grim passivity her deflowering.
An arrogant, thoroughly male expression tipped his lips. “I’d ask your forgiveness...”
“But ’twould be a lie. You’re pleased to have been the first,” she finished for him.
“Aye, too true.” He toyed with her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Fascinated, she watched as he pulled the rosy erect nub gently between his teeth. And then his mouth covered the entire aureole and suckled it. Her whole body tingled at the erotic tug on her nipple. She gathered his glossy, ink-colored hair into a tail at his nape, exposing the etching on his neck. Everything about him fascinated her.
With her other hand, she traced the scar, the wings that enfolded both sword and shield. It was a representation of the Angel of the Apocalypse. The scales of justice were drawn on the shield. The mark was all that remained of the soldier who had once risked his earldom to go on crusade. She wondered if she judged him too harshly. Perhaps, after years devoted to battle, he deserved to indulge himself with pleasure.
He lifted his head, a wicked smile playing on his face as he inched inside of her, thick and hard. With each exquisite increment, she dug her fingers into the sleek muscles of his back.
“I’m asking,” he said with another persuasive thrust into her tight sheath. “Will you stay with me?” He drove deeper. Her pussy clenched around him.
“I won’t have any of your bastards.” Startlingly penetrating strokes made her stammer her demand.
“You’ve made that clear. I am determined to tame that mouth of yours.” He nibbled her bottom lip and then plunged his tongue deep into her mouth.
He reached between their bodies, his thumb finding the most sensitive part of her. Rubbing the pad of his thumb over her nub, he teased it until a scintillating sensation thrilled her whole body. He was certainly taming her body. She felt sinuous and feline as she arched toward him, taking all of him. Lifting his head, he peered down at her. Beneath his heavy lashes, his eyes were slivers of gleaming onyx.
“Who are you?” she whispered. The heaviness and heat of his body, the size of his cock inside her, the tantalizing feel of his thumb stroking her, and his delicious masculine scent enveloped her senses. The man was completely intoxicating.
“Come with me, Tiana,” he said, his breath warm against her mouth. Her body seemed instinctively to know what he meant, and she followed. Heavenly spasms overtook her pussy. Shuddering in her arms, he spent himself outside her body.
“So that is satisfaction,” she said in awe. Her body thrummed with pleasure.
His chest heaving, he rolled onto his back.
She traced the design on his neck. The mark spoke of violence. “Is this a souvenir from King Peter’s crusade?”
“Aye.”
“When you left to join the campaign, I was certain it was the last I’d see of you.” She lifted his heavy arm and found the other inked scar. A Jerusalem cross he’d had carved on the underside of his forearm; a crusader’s mark to ensure a Christian burial.
“Hopefully, you weren’t too disappointed I’d survived.” He scooped her up and settled her atop his hot body.
Blinking hard, she prevented tears from chasing down her cheeks and onto his chest. She trailed her finger over his Adam’s apple to the hollow at the base of his throat. She concentrated on slowing her breathing until she was calm enough to speak. “I want a garden.” The words shot out louder than she expected.
He propped his arm behind his head and peered down at her. “Mercenary little thing, aren’t you? I’ve never had to pay for these favors before.”
With a cry, she tried to shove herself off his body, but he’d anticipated her outrage and clamped his hand on her bottom, holding her fast. “Not that you aren’t worth it.” His deep voice resonated through her.
“’Twasn’t meant as payment. I wanted something to occupy my time. Or am I to lounge naked in your bed all day?”
“I suppose that was too much to hope for,” he replied with a roguish smile.
“You are a very wicked man, Beckett de Saxby.”
“So you keep telling me.” His big hand kneaded her bottom. “A garden you shall have, but within the castle walls. I don’t want you going beyond the moat. ’Tis a dangerous time.”
“And I want my hives moved. You haven’t destroyed those, have you?”
“I haven’t.” He was twisting tufts of her hair, forming the ends into points. “But I told Thomas, the boy you entrusted with them, that they were his to keep. Reckoned it would keep him from poaching from my rivers.”
“I’m glad for Thomas.” She swirled her fingers over his chest. Beneath all that hard muscle, there actually beat a heart.
Chapter Five
“Out! Out! You clumsy dog.” Christiana waved her arms at the lanky, gray hound. “You’ll crush all the new seedlings.” Chastened, Christiana’s new, long-nosed companion lowered his head and walked forlornly out of the garden. He pushed his head up against her hand for a pat. “You surely are starved for attention, Sir Rascal. I know exactly how you feel.” His tail wagged at the knightly name she’d dubbed him. Reaching down, she gave his neck a hearty rub. “Now stay out of my garden.” With a tiny whimper, the dog sat obediently by her feet.
Christiana surveyed the freshly sprouted rows of herbs and flowers. The dainty plants were thriving in the warm afternoon sun. By midsummer, people would be begging her for sprigs of lemon balm for fevers and marjoram for poultices. Christiana knelt in the dirt to wrench free some of the scraggly weeds that had pushed through the freshly plowed earth. The rosemary and mint were already releasing whispery hints of fragrance. More than half of the garden had been planted with lavender, for no other reason than it was her favorite. And this was her garden, after all...his gift to her.
The garden gave her almost more pleasure than the golden hair band Beckett had surprised her with. Though, with its glittering emeralds the color of the pond in
the copse, it was by far the most beautiful thing she had ever beheld. She fancied that it even enhanced her spiky hair. Pity, she thought, she could not wear the jeweled band while plucking weeds. She got to her feet and shook the dirt from her skirt. A thrill ran through her as she thought of wearing the band and nothing else for Beckett upon his return.
A soft rain started, sprinkling the soil. Her furry companion crawled under a nearby cart and curled himself into a giant ball of hound. “Keep an eye out for garden nibblers, Sir Rascal.”
With each day, the rain seemed to increase in force. The soaked grounds turned the color of swill, and the moat rose, over-spilling its banks. And still, he didn’t come. How was he hunting in this chilling deluge?
Christiana settled herself before the blazing fire and pulled one of Beckett’s tunics from her basket. When she’d started on the garment, she’d only meant to fix the embroidery that had come loose at the hem. In her loneliness, the embroidery had gotten away from her. Fanciful tendrils climbed up the garment and wrapped around each sleeve.
A fist battered against the door, and Christiana startled, pricking her finger with the needle. She tucked the garment into the basket and answered the knock. Servants entered carrying a large wooden tub, which they set before the fire. Agnes followed, puffing hard, her hands full of fresh bathing sheets and cakes of soap. She hastily directed the boys with steaming buckets of water.
“The lad’s home.” Her ruddy cheeks glowing from exertion, she gave Christiana a knowing wink.
He did not have his usual powerful step. His boots seemed too heavy for him. Beckett plucked at his clothes, but they stuck to his skin. There were dark patches that looked far too much like dried blood.
Slipping into the room was one of the women she’d first seen arrayed on his bed. With a defiant look, she dared Christiana to dismiss her. Instead Christiana moved away from the fire to the edge of the room. The woman set a shallow bowl of oil beside the tub. Oil to rub over the silken skin of his overdeveloped shoulders—and other parts, Christiana was certain. The woman smiled, as though gloating, and waited eagerly to serve him. He was going to undress completely before this woman without a thought. Perhaps he would even couple with her right in front of Christiana.
When the girl kneeled at his feet and began unfastening his spurs, Christiana clenched her teeth against the jealous pain and moved toward the door. She chanced a sideways glance as she slid past. His heavy lidded eyes were following her.
“Why do you lurk in the shadows, woman? Come here. I’ve missed you.”
“You appear to be in good hands, my lord. I thought I’d leave you to your bath.”
She watched as he bent over the attendant and removed her hands from his body.
The woman laughed softly and reapplied herself to tugging the spurs loose.
“Leave off,” he said, now sounding wholly frustrated. He rubbed his face with his hand.
With a toss of her brown hair, the woman stomped past, shooting Christiana a slaying look.
“Splendid, I’ve made yet another friend in the castle,” Christiana said.
Beckett did not seem to hear her comment. He swayed like a massive tree in a gale. Christiana smiled to herself. She had never seen him so exhausted. He really was asleep on his feet. “I suppose I am now left with the challenge of bathing you, my lord?” She strode over to him.
“’Tis a challenge, is it? Most of my bathing girls consider it a treat.” He threw his arms heavily around her as if sotted, toppling her against his chest. Curiously, he did not smell of spirits. “I wager you’re sorry to have me home so soon.” His words sounded heavy with emotion, and it weighed on her heart. She’d been too successful in convincing him of her indifference. Self-preservation made her swallow the truth. She could never tell him how desperately she wanted him. She gently pulled the adhering tunic from his skin. The bruising along his side made her wince. Her fingers grazed over a pattern of circular shapes indented in his skin, indentations so deep that blood had pooled near the skin’s surface. They resembled the links of chain mail. Obviously, he had sustained an injury for his hauberk to have left marks even through the quilted gambeson. Why, she wondered, would he be wearing chain mail to hunt?
With a groan, he lowered himself into the tub. As he steeped in the hot water, his eyes drifted shut, and his head lolled forward, the tips of his black hair soaking up the water. She stroked the black stubble defining his jaw line. He probably hadn’t taken a blade to his face in over a week. The rough beard made him look completely untamable. She feared it suited him too well, a man no woman could hope to domesticate.
With tender care, she moved the soap over his battered body. His hand flew to his shoulder as she smoothed the sudsy water over his muscles. Oddly, no bruising marked his skin there. Then she recalled how his shoulder would ache after a long day of longbow practice.
Hoisting the half-asleep giant from the tub took effort. She was wetter than he by the time she had accomplished the monumental task. With care, she dried his battered and bruised skin with a soft cloth, then pointed him in the direction of the bed. A loud sigh echoed through the room as his body hit the mattress, the bed creaking under his dead weight. She reached for the coverlet and pulled it across him. As she turned to leave, his hand shot from under the cover and grabbed her waist. Before she had time to be startled, she was under the cover, her back tucked securely against his body. He meshed his fingers with hers, spreading her fingers far apart. It made her think of opening her legs sinfully wide for him, so wide that her muscles would tremble, and having his fingers part her labia to expose her moist, pink folds to his piercing, dark gaze.
When he kissed the back of her neck, a tingle of delight tiptoed up her back. “I have seen hell, Tiana. Now I need heaven,” he whispered, his lips so close to her ear she could feel their softness in contrast to the bristle of his beard. His hands slid up her legs, gathering up the skirt of her kirtle. When his fingers reached the naked skin of her thighs, she instinctively pressed her bottom against his hardness.
He groaned. “You want me.” He said it as if it were a revelation.
Roughly, he yanked up her skirt so that it bunched above her hips. She squirmed, but he grabbed her hips with both hands and pulled her buttocks toward him, plunging inside of her before she could take a breath.
His tight grip softened, and one of his hands trailed down her stomach to the eager nub between her nether lips. He massaged it gently, all the while slamming his pelvis against her with powerful thrusts. His long, achingly hard cock reached deeper than ever as she pushed her bottom against him.
In a daze, she twisted her upper body and glanced over her shoulder at his face. His eyes were slightly open, and he stared down at the space he’d made between them, watching his hardened erection stroking in and out of her. Christiana rested her head on the pillow and clutched at the side of the mattress for leverage. Her thighs squeezed the big fingers trapped between her legs, and she rubbed her pussy brazenly against them. The thumb of his other hand drew a rough circle around her untried, puckered hole. When it pressed suggestively at the entrance, she stiffened, impaled on his formidable shaft. She could not move as waves of incredible pleasure pulsed through her. And then his thrusts came harder and faster. He drove into her with such fierceness that she stifled a scream.
His body shuddered behind her as he found release outside her body. As he relaxed his hold, he nuzzled his face into the back of her hair. The gesture tightened her throat, and suddenly she couldn’t get close enough. She turned and pressed herself against the heat of his skin. Her fingers found the impressions the chain mail had left above his hip, and suspicions took root. Had he really only been hunting? The leader of the pack of armored riders that patrolled the forest wielded a longbow. Rumor said the man’s skills were matchless.
“Revynwyll has been torching the countryside again. The sky was thick with smoke,” she said.
“Luckily, my path did not take me past that worm’s
carnage.”
“Agnes said there were heads spiked very near Baron Pikhorn’s estate.” She shivered, and he curled his body tighter around hers.
“This is a curious conversation to be having after lovemaking.”
“Does it not matter to you?”
He yawned, his warm breath ruffling her hair. “And what would you have me do about it?” It was the lazy drawl of a sated nobleman, not the response of a warrior.
“What of the hell you spoke of? Did you find your favorite brothel shuttered?”
“Careful, Tiana, I could mistake that for jealousy.” He cupped her pussy, his middle finger nestling snuggly in her slit, as though he intended to sleep that way.
When his breathing slowed, she turned in his arms to face him. The harsh weariness she’d seen as he’d stepped into the bedroom had all but vanished as he slumbered.
“Blacksmith,” she whispered. His eyes flickered, but did not open. She chided herself. She was as fanciful as those gossips at the faire, swooning over the possibility of Colin being the legendary ebony knight. Did she wish Beckett to be a romantic hero because she had expected such great things from him and had been disappointed? Relinquishing her fantasy, she laid a soft kiss on the massive shoulder of his firing arm.
Beckett gritted his teeth as his advisor entered the empty dining hall. Clement was more ferret than man, forever finding those who did not wish to be found. Beckett swallowed a curse against his father. Clement and his unwanted advice had been as much an inheritance as the Dareford title. How he wished he were still abed with his nose buried in Tiana’s sweet-smelling hair. Why had he been fool enough to agree to sword practice with Colin?
Beckett slid a mug of ale toward Clement as he took a seat. After taking an unenthusiastic sip, Clement fastidiously smoothed his damp moustache. “The villeins are atwitter about your new paramour.” He took another taste of his ale and fussed with his moustache again. “I doubt Lord Pikhorn will find your choice of lover quite so intriguing. You take a chance that he will reject you as suitor for his daughter because of your common tastes.”
The Heat of the Knight Page 6
