by Betina Krahn
“We don’t need weapons!” She swung again, struggling to control both the heavy staff and her own reeling emotions. “We don’t need soldiers . . . or walls or city guards or garrisons. You will put down your weapons for good—all your weapons—and stop this wretched talk of fighting . . . and danger . . .”
The dazed fury in her face blunted Saxxe’s own ire. He had never seen her like this, so volatile, so out of control . . . not even in the alleys of Nantes after he rescued her from the Mongol-Slavs. Her eyes were blazing, her frame trembled, and she hurled commands like javelins.
Commands. The realization struck him like a pail of icy water: she was absolutely terrified. And suddenly it all made sense.
He dropped back, dodging her next blow. Then as the backswing took her arms out of the way, he flung his staff aside and launched himself at her, ripping the staff from her hands and sending her flailing backward. He caught her by her surcoat, braced his legs, and just kept her from hitting the ground. Then in a reverse movement, he pulled her upward, ducked under her stomach, and lifted her up onto his shoulder.
The men cleared a path for him to his horse and stood in amazement as he heaved her sputtering, wriggling form across his saddle and climbed aboard with her. He had to get her away from her people and palace, he knew, to settle it once and for all. Over his shoulder, he called, “Gasquar—make them practice!” Then he gave Sultan the spur.
Chapter Nineteen
He rode straight for the high pastures tucked in the forested slopes at the far end of the valley. When he reached a placid meadow, shielded from the rest of the kingdom by tall, graceful trees, he decided it was as good a place as any and reined up. But if he had expected that the jolting ride had pounded some of the fight from her, he soon learned better. When he lifted her from the saddle, she groaned, gasped a breath, and delivered a healthy kick to his unprotected shin.
“Owww!”
“Let me go—this instant!” She wrenched and twisted so that he clamped both arms fiercely around her and caught one of her feet tightly between his knees. “Blackguard . . . barbarian,” she panted furiously. “Do your worst, Rouen—you don’t frighten me!”
“Something damn well does!” he roared, struggling to maintain his grip on her as she wrestled beneath him. “Stop it, Thera—you know I won’t hurt you. Stop!” She seemed to slow for a moment, then resumed her struggles with even more force.
With an unexpected wrench in his arms, she managed to bring her knee up between his legs, and when he groaned, she broke free and bolted. After the flash of pain subsided, Saxxe gulped a breath and charged after her. Her panicky strides were no match for his long, powerful legs, and halfway across the meadow he caught up with her and snagged the billowing train of her surcoat. In desperation, she released the clasps at her breast . . . leaving him lurching for balance with a handful of silk and wool.
He growled in surprise and tossed the garment aside to race after her. This time when he caught up with her, he grabbed both her gown and her. She squirmed in his grip, and when he saw how she doubled up to escape him, he released her and let her topple to the ground. The next instant he had her pinned on her back beneath him.
“No—get off—get away from me!”
“Look at me, Thera,” he ordered, panting as he struggled to maintain the upper hand. He released one of her arms to force her face back to his. “Damn it—look at me! What are you so afraid of?” He felt her gasp and flinch as if she’d been hit.
“I’m not afraid!” she shouted. “Not of anything, Rouen. Not you . . . or the warring that runs in your blood . . . or the blue steel that you wear like a second skin . . . or the way you spread disorder and confusion throughout my kingdom. I’m not afraid of pillaging Mongol-Slavs . . . or dark hordes burning villages in the countryside . . . or prophecies . . . or intruders lurking in the hills . . . or of watching the men of my people being turned into killers. I’m not afraid of anything, Rouen. Noth-ing”—her voice broke and emotion seeped through the cracks to clog her throat—“nothing at a-all.” She strained her face away, fighting back tears. “I’m a crown princess, a ruler, a future queen. I can take care of my people. It’s my duty. Mine. My responsibility to defend them.”
He lay braced above her, watching her grapple with her fears, understanding her struggle with such intensity that it was almost physically painful to him.
Events were mounting like floodwaters around her; the fate of her kingdom was reeling further and further out of her control. And of all possible dangers, that terrified her most . . . losing control . . . being helpless when so many other’s depended upon her. The possibility she might not be able to protect her people was too horrifying for her to admit even to herself.
“You cannot defend them, Thera,” he said with quiet urgency. “At least not by yourself. You wield a mean staff, but not all enemies come at you honorably and fairly, face-to-face. And not even the mightiest warrior can fight on all sides at once.” He turned her face back to him and held it between his hands. “Your councilors are there to help . . . your people are eager to learn how to defend themselves and their lands. And I am here with you, Thera. You’re not alone in this.”
“I’m responsible,” she said, averting her eyes. “I’m their ruler, the one they look to. It’s my duty, not theirs. . . .”
And not his, either, she meant. His throat tightened. In that moment he would have given his very lifeblood to banish that fear from her heart.
He slid to the ground beside her and wrapped her in his arms, closing his eyes. He knew only one way to get past her defenses. He lowered his mouth to hers and a tremor of pleasure raced through his senses . . . part his, part hers. And that involuntary response told him exactly what he needed to know.
He poured his mouth over hers, kissing her softly, then deepening the contact, searching for her passions. His hands began to skim her body . . . moving over her shoulders and soft breasts, down the curve of her waist and across her woman’s mound . . . calling forth her desires. He had to make her forget her fears and their differences for a time, and to that end he summoned every weapon in his sensual armory.
She slowly warmed to his potent touch, and her feeling of being trapped gradually transformed into feelings of being surrounded, then sheltered, by him. Her senses began to clear, and awareness of him seeped through her garments into her very skin. A responsive wave of dry heat fanned through her and she slid her arms around him, opening to his kisses, claiming the promises of his passion. Her fears receded into the past and future, leaving her only the present . . . this moment with him . . . this enveloping pleasure.
Through the deepening charge in her senses, she felt him lift his head and heard him groan. When he released her and rolled away, she opened her eyes in confusion and found him lying beside her in the fragrant grass, looking at her.
“I just recalled . . . I’m a knight now.” His mouth curled ruefully. “It would be unforgivably improper of me to make love to my sovereign. Unlike barbarians, whose code of conduct permits them a great deal of latitude in choosing who to seduce and ravish, we knights are constrained by strict standards of courtesy and chivalry. Ladies of exalted rank are to be worshiped from afar, and crown princesses, I am quite sure, are completely out of the question.” He swept her with a sultry, dark-eyed look that felt like a brazen caress.
“I fear that prohibits my giving you pleasure, Princess.” He gave an artful sigh. “Unless, of course, I was commanded to do so. A knight is obliged to put the commands of his sovereign above all else.”
She sat up, at a loss for how to respond to his outrageous suggestion. She couldn’t tell if he was taunting or tempting her with it. Her confusion must have shown on her face, for he shoved up on one arm and gave her a small, knowing smile.
“Tell me, Princess . . . what would you have me do?” He leaned close and let his lips hover over hers, a hairbreadth away. She could feel their heat like a phantom touch. “Command me . . . I’ll obey,” he murmu
red hotly against her skin. “I’m yours, Princess.”
She couldn’t speak as he added the persuasion of his hands . . . spreading them over her breasts, close but not touching. Then he stroked her shoulders, caressed her waist, pleasuring her with only the warmth of his hand, a touch more sensuous than full contact might have been. She licked her lips and leaned toward his hand, but he withdrew just enough to maintain that agonizing distance. She reached for his mouth with hers, but he drew back just enough to prevent her from pressing her lips against his.
She sat upright, her face scarlet, her body burning with frustration. He meant it, she realized; he would not touch her except by her expressed command. And as she gazed into the provocative heat of his eyes, she understood that it was meant to be part of the pleasure.
“Kiss me, Saxxe Rouen,” she whispered, unable to say it louder. She was used to giving commands, but this one felt different . . . strangely decadent.
“By your command, Your Highness. How does my princess wish to be kissed? Lightly, warmly, wetly? With open mouth or closed? With tongue or—”
“Dieu, Rouen! Just kiss me!” she choked out. He smiled and kissed her softly, sweetly, and all too briefly. She licked her bottom lip and frowned. “Again please . . . only longer.” He did kiss her longer, warmer, but with his mouth closed. When her tongue darted over his lips, seeking inward passage, it found none. That, apparently, required a different command.
“Curse you, Rouen—” she muttered, feeling her face catching fire. “Give me your tongue.” And instead of the tide of humiliation she might have expected, she felt a delicious flare of excitement deep in her breasts and loins as he complied. It was a lush, intoxicating kiss, but something—she realized—was still missing, She reached for his arms to draw them around her and they refused to leave his sides. She pulled back, frustrated.
“Do I have to command your caresses, too?” she said irritably.
“Yea, Princess.” His eyes glinted, “But that shouldn’t be hard for you. I believe you like giving orders.” A knowing smile tugged at his mouth,
She narrowed her eyes, deciding to shock him into more sensible behavior. “Very well, then”—she tossed her head—“caress me.” A moment later his fingers closed over her breasts and she gasped as he stroked and massaged them to exquisite sensitivity. Her body melted back onto the grass and his hands followed her down. “My nipples—they burn. Rub and caress them.” And soon she looked up into his dark, seductive countenance and commanded: “Use your mouth as well.” He fastened his mouth to each breast in turn, and teased and suckled her through the fabric until she writhed with pleasure. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with each flick of his tongue, and she yearned for the feel of his mouth against her bare skin.
“My clothes,” she said, sitting up, then rolling up onto her knees before him. “Take them off.” At her demand, a jolt of excitement went through his eyes. He sat patiently in front of her, working the laces, then peeling the fabric from her heated skin. When her top was bare, she didn’t have to be coaxed to tell him what she wanted. “Kiss me . . . here,” she said, lifting her breasts, offering him her tingling nipples. This time his arms slid around her without being bidden.
A shameless and exhilarating sense of power filled her as he claimed her breasts. It was a collection of feelings she had never even imagined: limitlessness, freedom, potency, and desirability . . . all a part of her new sense of control. He was indeed her servant in that moment, bent to her pleasure will by his own choice. He gave her that power over him.
Soon the rest of her garments were shoved down her hips and she stepped out of them and over him with a husky command. “Lie back, sir knight. And let us see just how obedient you can be.”
Standing over him, she savored the bronzed sprawl of his body between her feet. “Give me your daggers,” she ordered. He hesitated, but then obliged, handing them up to her. “And now your belt and boots.” Tossing them aside, she sank onto her knees, astride his thighs, and began to untie his hose.
Naked, her skin bathed in the rosy light of sunset, she stripped him and then stretched out atop him. “Ummm . . . you have a wonderful body, my dutiful knight. Lie very still.” She wriggled and rubbed provocatively until she felt his trembling and heard his half-audible moan. Then she paused and demanded with an opulent purr: “Pet me.”
Somewhere in the flow of heat and hands and whispered commands, the margin of power narrowed between them. When she groaned, “Fill me, Saxxe . . . now,” it was half command and half plea.
From that moment on, no verbal commands were needed; he fluently read the language of her body’s responses and complied with its every demand. Long, slow strokes lifted her on fluid waves of sensation . . . higher . . . until she held him tighter and urged him faster. Then she plunged into a wild, sweet spiral of release that bore her earthward, toward the source of all her pleasures. And she clung to him and uttered one last command.
“Come with me . . .”
They lay together for a long while, luxuriating in the steamy heat that coursed through their sated bodies. Thera looked up at the invading blue of the oncoming night and breathed deeply of the scent of the grasses, the damp earth, and the meadow flowers. Scarcely a month before, she would have been outraged at the suggestion that she would make naked, abandoned love in a wild meadow at sunset. She stretched luxuriously, then looked up to find him watching her.
“Am I still your princess?” she said with a siren’s smile. He laughed softly.
“You are that, Thera of Aric. And a good bit more.”
“Good,” she said, sitting up, then pushing to her feet. “Then I command you to stay right there . . . don’t move a muscle until I say so.”
She strode out of his sight and returned a short while later, settling near his head, just out of his vision. When he tried to look, she scolded him. When he demanded to know what she was doing, she just laughed mysteriously and told him he would find out soon enough. As time dragged by and she still refused to let him look, both his skin and his curiosity began to itch.
“The grass is getting wet . . . and scratchy.”
“Almost finished,” she said, and he groaned. “Very well . . . you can turn around.”
He was up on his knees in a single catlike movement and turned to find her sitting among the lush grass with a lapful of plucked blossoms and a plaited ring of pale flowers in her hands. Her bare body glowed and her eyes shone in the moonlight. She was breathtaking, a vision from his numerous dreams of her. He staggered to his feet and pulled her into his arms. Kissing her with all the joy and tenderness at his command, he lifted her off her feet and turned around and around with her. Somewhere in that dizzying kiss, she managed to recall the ring of flowers in her hand and pulled back enough to say: “Stop . . . put me down. I made this for you.”
He set her on her feet, and when she ordered him to kneel, he went down before her. She ran her fingers through his long hair to tame it, then placed the coronet of flowers on his head and kissed each cheek with sovereign grace.
“Rise, Saxxe Rouen . . . Prince of My Heart,” she proclaimed. And lest there be any confusion as to the title she was bestowing on him, she clarified it: “Prince of My Whole Heart.”
He caught her hands and held them tightly, searching her features in the pale light and finding them filled with love. Her whole heart. She was making him her mate, her equal. His laugh was tinged with wonder. “I never expected to have a title of any kind in my lifetime. And now I’ve gone from barbarian to knight to prince in a space of days.” He kissed her hands, then her lips. “Prince of Your Heart. No other title in the entire world could bring me more pleasure, Thera of Aric . . . Princess of My Dreams.”
They stayed in the meadow for a while, lying on a bed of garments, kissing and caressing, sharing memories and experiences, and luxuriating in this new feeling between them. After a time, they dressed slowly and started back to the palace, holding hands as they led Sultan along the trails Thera k
new by heart. Descending into the valley, they strolled along a path toward a haze of brightness. It was the orchards, still in bloom, glowing in the moonlight.
“This way,” he said, tying Sultan to a tree and pulling Thera down a well-grazed path between the apple trees. As they wound their way through the rows, the moon-brightened blossoms created a disorienting illusion of snow. Despite the wane of the blossoms and the setting on of fruit, there was a lingering sweetness on the air, and Saxxe halted and drew breath after breath, letting it seep into his blood.
“I love orchards. When I chased you through the trees that first day I could scarcely believe my eyes. I’ve never seen such blossoms. Do you know . . . on my father’s lands there was a large orchard. It was always my favorite place. But after they stole our water and the stream was gone, the land itself seemed to dry up and we couldn’t save the trees. Other things became more important.” He ducked under one especially full tree, leaning on one of the low, broad-reaching branches. Looking up into the boughs, he smiled bittersweetly.
“I’ve always wanted an orchard.”
“Now you have one,” she said, her eyes shining.
He wheeled to look at her with tension In his frame. “I do?” When he saw the smile on her face and realized what she was giving him, he burst into a huge grin. “So I do. Prince Saxxe. Prince of Thera’s Heart . . . and of one perfectly marvelous orchard.”
He ducked under the limb and grabbed her hand, pulling her along as he ran from row to row, laughing, enjoying the otherworldly delight of the moonlight on the blossoms. When they both were panting, he stopped and turned to her with an enchantingly wicked grin.
“Prince Saxxe, eh? Perhaps I should try out some of my new powers.” He reeled her closer and placed his hands on her shoulders. Even in the moon shadows cast by the branches, he could see the luminous glow of her eyes. She had just given him the key to the other half of the lesson she so desperately needed. He prayed it would be enough.
