Gregory reached over and clasped his arm. “Many thanks for the rescue, Kerr. Though it was unnecessary.”
Lord Hedford looked from him to Gregory and frowned.
“May I have a word?” he asked, clearly not wanting an audience.
Toren nodded and turned to Gregory, making a downward gesture. “Can you keep that from other men’s wives? I’ve no wish to do battle off the lists again, Campbell.”
True to his nature, Gregory grinned. “I’ll do my best, but no promises, laddie.”
He limped away, garnering curious glances from the remaining spectators.
“You know that man?”
Toren watched Gregory make his way toward the back of the keep and prayed he would heed his advice, at least for the remainder of the day.
“I had the good fortune of fighting alongside him at Largs.”
It was best Hedford knew straightaway that, despite Gregory’s lack of judgment, he would defend the man to the death.
“Ahh, I see.”
Hedford nodded to indicate they should move away from the center of activity, and Toren followed him, looking toward the crowd, looking for Juliette.
“She’s returned to her chamber to prepare for the evening meal.”
He didn’t attempt to deny that he had been looking for her.
“How did the warden’s daughter come to be your responsibility this week?”
Toren wasn’t a man for idle chatter. And though he was not certain of the Englishman’s purpose for this discussion, he had an inkling of what it might be.
“How did she so quickly become the object of your curiosity?” Hedford shot back.
Toren eyed the man more carefully. Well dressed and with a slight limp, more permanent than the one Gregory had recently attained, Lord Hedford appeared to be of an age with him, or close. The inquiries he’d made about Juliette’s chaperone had shed precious few details. The man was a minor baron whose father had died suddenly last year. His land bordered Lady Christina’s to the north, making theirs a marriage of convenience, though they seemed to get along well enough.
But Lord Hedford had apparently spent much of the last few years overseas, and no one seemed to know why. It was particularly unusual in that he’d stayed away from Hedford Manor for some time after his father’s death.
“Circumstances of the tournament celebrations,” he responded, purposefully vague.
“Circumstances of proximity,” Hedford said, answering his original question. Giving Toren a pointed look, he added, “Warning Lady Juliette of dallying with a strange man is akin to preaching the dangers of excess to our host.”
Though he had only known her for a matter of days, Toren had already surmised as much.
“So you thought to warn the man against said dalliance.”
Hedford’s actions were honorable but misguided. Neither he nor his wife would dissuade him from Lady Juliette. He took orders from no one with the exception, in this instance, of Jules. The matter of their relationship was between the two of them and no one else.
Well, perhaps his sister warranted another exception, but damned if he’d let the chit know it.
“Your warning is duly noted, if not heeded.”
Hedford’s eyebrows rose.
“You misunderstand me. I’d learn your intentions concerning Juliette, not dissuade you from pursuing her suit.”
Toren was rarely surprised, yet it took a moment for those words to penetrate.
“Why?”
Hedford adjusted the sword at his side, reminding Toren he was not participating in the tournament. Because of his injury?
“You stopped a fight that could have seen men from both of our countries killed.” He paused, staring intently at him as if taking his measure. “You are reticent. Cut off from your neighbors, mistrusting even your own countrymen as allies.”
“What do you—”
“And you lost Bristol to the Waryns.”
Toren gritted his teeth but somehow kept his anger in check.
“Otherwise, both you and your clan have a reputation for peace. Bristol was a rash act taken by your king when the border lines were less stable. And before you defend him. . .”
Hedford was wrong if he thought taking Bristol was an action he would defend. King or nay.
“Ours has made the same foolish mistakes in this never-ending quest to secure dominance between our countries. But despite missteps by leaders on both sides, a more than thirty-year agreement has stood, so far, because of men such as you and I. Ones who care more about the lives of our families or clans than we do about what we call ourselves.”
“What do you want from me?”
More importantly, how much did Hedford know about the rumors surrounding Juliette’s father. Did he suspect Toren’s interest in Juliette was more than just personal?
“I want you to conduct yourself with the honor you’re reputed to have. And to understand Juliette has been sheltered. And though she may be naïve, the woman is far from ignorant.”
Toren wouldn’t reveal any more than he already had. Hedford wanted something, that much was clear, but it was impossible to offer anything in the way of assurances, especially since Toren himself didn’t yet understand his motivations when it came to Juliette Hallington.
“So your wife has already mentioned. Good day, Lord Hedford.”
11
The world had opened for Juliette, truly opened, when she was ten and seven. She’d finished her lessons with Sister Heloise, and the nun told her that henceforth she would be given free rein in the library. But, she admonished, Juliette could remove only one book at a time to take home with her. And she had to promise to read in every language and every genre.
Until then, Juliette hadn’t known the abbey’s extensive library included non-religious manuscripts. So it was she found herself exploring French poems, English history, and fairytales penned in Latin. Even one that she was sure was donated to the abbey but never read by its nuns. One that detailed the act between a married man and woman. One that she’d wondered about many times since she’d read it. But more than all others, there was one type of manuscript that held her attention.
Tales of courtly love.
Now, at one and twenty, she sat on the edge of her seat in her chamber, waiting for her life to change again. After this night, she would no longer be a maiden.
Without windows in her chamber, Juliette couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but she’d stayed at the meal for as long as she could bear before excusing herself for the evening. Anxiety and excitement made her heart race, so she forced herself to think about a story, her usual way of calming herself.
The first tale that had made her eager for love was that of Melior and Guilaume. Melior, the daughter of the emperor, was promised to Alphonso, a Greek prince, but Melior’s stepmother turned Alphonso into a werewolf so the girl could marry the man she loved. If Guilaume, a commoner, could marry the daughter of the emperor, surely she could have some say in her choice of husband?
She wasn’t asking her parents to turn anyone into a wolf, but she certainly wished they would take her desire for love more seriously.
Did she love Toren? She wasn’t sure. Nor did it matter since he obviously did not love her. Why else would he refuse to consider marriage? But he did desire her. And for now, that was enough.
The knock was so low Juliette hardly heard it. She rushed to the door and opened it, remembering belatedly that she had not wished to appear too anxious.
“You gave me your ribbon,” he said as he walked into the room.
Her heart beat wildly, his unique smell assaulting her as he came toward her. She stepped to the side and closed the door behind her. When she turned back around, the first thing she noticed was that his tunic sleeves were rolled back, revealing the thick muscle underneath.
She had an intense urge to touch him there.
“Aye,” she murmured, mesmerized. “I told you I would.”
She lifted her head an
d shivered. His expression left no question as to his mood.
“You’re not a wolf,” she blurted, immediately wishing she could take the ridiculous comment back.
He laughed. Such a deep, sensual sound.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Toren took a step toward her.
“I. . . I was just thinking of Alphonso. And—”
“Melior?”
She tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. “You know the story?”
“Aye,” he said, moving even closer. “But I would think my role is more akin to Guilaume, is it not?’
What was he saying? Was it a proclamation that he felt something for her after all?
“Who do you want me to be, Jules?”
Oh God, if he took one more step she’d be unable to stand.
“Just yourself,” she managed as Toren reached for her. He pulled her to him and wrapped one arm around her waist.
“’Tis all that I know,” he said as his head bowed toward hers.
He covered her lips with his own, coaxing her to open for him. When she did, his tongue plunged into her mouth. It teased and tormented, and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.
Toren groaned, pulling her even closer.
“Please.” She didn’t know what she asked for, but he seemed to understand.
He reached between them and began to untie the belt at her waist. Too curious to do otherwise, she placed her hands on his forearms, stroking them as the hard muscles tensed beneath her fingers. The belt dropped to the floor, and then he lifted the heavy gown in one swift movement, pulling the heavy fabric over her head. She hadn’t been expecting that, but when he tossed the offending garment to the side and pulled her to him once again, Juliette could immediately understand the benefits. With only her shift and his tunic to separate them, she could feel him pressed against her.
And God help her, she wanted to get closer.
His mouth moved from her lips to her neck, and Juliette bent her head to the side to allow the access.
“Are you—”
“Please, not again. I’m sure, Toren.”
The fluttery feeling returned, and she pressed against him, wanting something. Wanting everything.
“Keep at that, and you’ll not be a maiden for long.”
She’d resigned her maidenhood to him the moment she tied the favor on his lance. Hadn’t that been their agreement?
Toren reached behind her and scooped her up into his arms. She found herself floating, or at least felt that way, to the bed.
He lowered her onto it, the feather mattress sinking under his weight as he lay next to her.
And then, nothing.
Propped on an elbow, he simply stared at her until she became aware of the state of her dress. Or lack of it.
She shifted, not knowing what to do.
He reached out and grabbed a strand of her long hair, twisting it around his fingers.
“When we first met, I had such an intense urge to touch you.” He slid his fingers down until they rested just above her breast.
“Everywhere.”
His hand cupped her and squeezed gently. He never took his eyes off hers.
And then that talented hand moved lower, over the thin cotton shift and across her stomach. It moved lower still, and Juliette was reminded of their first kiss. He had that same look now, as if he would devour her.
But this time, she’d let him.
Without looking away, he placed his hand between her legs, and Juliette instinctively closed them. But he pressed anyway, his palm circling. He lowered his head, and though she did not understand why, the tantalizing sensation of his lips against her neck made her press into his hand. Pleasurable sensations radiated from every place he touched her, pooling in her core.
A desperate moan spilled out of her, and his lips burned a path across her neck and to her mouth. He kissed her, deeply and fully, and she writhed against him. Suddenly, the pressure of his hand was gone, but before she could ask why, he lifted her shift, removing the only remaining obstacle between them. He touched her in that private place again and then shocked her by putting a finger inside her.
Slowly at first, he mimicked the movement of his tongue in her mouth. Juliette was sure she’d never survive the sensations tumbling through her. His mouth, so firm and unyielding yet somehow still gentle. His wicked finger, sending pulses of pleasure through her.
“Please,” she asked against his mouth.
He didn’t seem to hear her. Or mayhap he did, for he moved even closer to her, his manhood pressing against the side of her leg. She could hardly even think of that. How could she when the sensations he wrought demanded her full attention?
Without warning, the building intensity shattered around her. The butterflies exploded and forced her eyes to fly open. She stared at him in wonder.
He smiled but kept his hand there. Between her legs, at the most intimate part of her.
As suddenly as the feeling began, it ebbed away from her. She wanted to catch it, but a delicious calm took its place. Nothing seemed more appropriate than to smile back at him.
“I’ve read about this.”
He took his hand away, pulled down her shift, and propped his head up on his elbow again.
“Have you now?”
She must sound absurd.
“Well, not exactly about that. The whole act, really.”
Toren’s hand rested on her leg in such a natural way that she couldn’t imagine it being anywhere else.
Well, maybe one other place.
“I read a lot.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“But I’ll admit to being completely unprepared for. . . well. . . what was that exactly?”
“That, my dear Jules, was your body’s way of saying it enjoys my company.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not a child, Toren.”
Neither of them smiled.
“That is quite clear.”
He didn’t move toward her. Didn’t kiss her or even touch her anywhere other than the hand that lay so innocuously on her upper thigh.
And then she knew. Somehow, though he hadn’t yet said a word, she knew.
He would not be swayed.
“You’re not going to make love to me. Are you?”
Her voice was flat. She had tried to sound uncaring but hadn’t quite succeeded.
“No, I am not.”
And yet he did not move.
“You’ve never deflowered a maid before?”
Every action he’d taken in their acquaintance had told her this man was too honorable to take her virginity. It was why she’d felt so safe with him.
“Nay. Though I sorely wish I could this eve.”
It should not feel so, but lying here with this man felt perfectly natural. She should feel embarrassed by what they’d just done. But she didn’t.
“This is perfect,” she blurted.
“You are perfect.”
Though it was a compliment, his tone was not light.
“Something is troubling you.”
Then again, something always seemed to be troubling him.
“You came here to find love and instead are willing to give yourself to a man who could never be your husband. Why?”
Could never be.
She looked away, staring at the fire across the room, the only source of light in the otherwise darkened chamber. Juliette couldn’t expect him to understand.
“You are your people’s chief,” she said, looking toward him once again.
“I am.”
He moved his fingers ever so slightly.
“Everyone must listen to you.”
Toren sighed. “Must? Should perhaps. But my brothers argue with me as much now as when we were children. And Catrina listens even less.”
A smile had stolen across his face again. He was clearly fond of his siblings despite his words.
“But your clan?”
She could
tell he finally understood what she was saying.
“Aye, lass. My clan listens to me.”
“They take their orders from you. And have likely done so for some time, you being the eldest son of a clan chief. But try to imagine what it would be like to have to take orders rather than give them. From everyone. Your mother and father. Your tutors. Your chaperones. Telling you how you should dress. Whom you should speak to. And whom you should marry.”
She shuddered.
“Is your intended that bad then?”
She preferred not to answer.
“Lord Hedford mentioned--”
“Hedford? She sat up in the bed. “When did you speak to him? Why did you speak to him?”
Toren didn’t move but lay there oh so casually. He seemed to take up the entirety of her bed, filling it just as he had filled the small room upon entering it.
He was exceedingly handsome.
“He attempted to warn me away from you. Of sorts.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I assumed he was trying to warn me off. But instead he pleaded for me to act with honor.”
She crossed her feet, tucking her legs under her.
“Did you find anything. . . unusual. . . about that? About him?” she asked.
Toren lay back and folded his hands behind his head.
“I thought it odd he didn’t forbid me to speak with you. I’ve made some inquiries of him as well.”
“Inquires? Of whom? What did you find?”
He turned toward her, his lips turning up ever so slightly. She was sure this was the most relaxed she’d seen him.
“So many questions. I’d imagine you know the man quite a bit better than I do?”
She shook her head. “Nay, not well at all. Christina’s father only told her of the betrothal six months before Lord Hedford returned from France. They met on their wedding day, which was just four months past. Christina knew him when they were young, before he left. But I had only met him twice before the tourney—once at their wedding and then on a visit a few weeks ago. I was glad my father allowed him and Christina to accompany me here.”
“Your father obviously trusts the man.”
She shrugged. “Enough to allow me here with him.”
Toren frowned.
The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3) Page 11
