He continued his gentle assault, lips covering her breasts, kissing them druggedly, lavishing them with his seductive teasing, then trailed to the pale skin of her neck. He nibbled her lobe, causing a shiver to run throughout her body, and she took his hair into her hands, pulling him away from the sensitive spot... toward her mouth.
Like a man starved, he thrust his tongue in a rhythm that he would soon mimic in nether regions, tasting and plundering with every frenzied stroke. Holding her close, he whispered huskily, “I need you, Chrestien... yield to me, my sweet.”
He wanted her to want this as much as he did, wanted her to lay beneath him and welcome his body into her own. Shifting atop her, he covered her, reveling in the heat they created together.
In answer, she took his tongue within her mouth, willing him to continue by moving her hips beneath him suggestively.
Her eagerness nearly unmanned him on the spot. Sliding his hands down to cup her buttocks, he positioned himself between her thighs, intending to enter slowly, gently. But he was overcome by the warmth of her, and pushed himself into the silky depths of her body, fully sheathing himself, breaking through her maiden’s barrier in one fluid motion.
Instinctively, he covered her mouth with his to absorb the cries of pain she could not contain. While he kissed her, he lay very still within her, allowing the pain to subside, watching for a sign that told him she was ready for his loving.
He rocked her slowly, building the strength of his thrusts until Chrestien could bear it no longer. Her body arched instinctively to accept all of him, her hand tugging at his hair. She moved beneath him feverishly, arching and undulating in turn, until finally it seemed something burst within. She cried out softly, loving the delicious sensations. He followed her cries with a guttural moan of his own, thrusting one last time, penetrating deeply and then stilling there within the depths of her body.
It was long before Weston could find the strength to lift himself from his wife. He rolled to her side, and reveled in her sweet satisfied murmurs. The darkness was impenetrable now and he cursed himself that he could not see her once more before abandoning himself to sleep. Beside him, he could hear her breathing grow shallow and he knew sleep would come quickly. Warm and replete, she shivered no longer and he smiled. Pulling his mantle over her naked body, he buried his face in her hair, content just to breathe of her woman’s scent. “You are mine,” he whispered fiercely, and meant it from the core of his soul.
Chapter Twelve
Morning broke with a shower of sunshine. Golden rays pierced the foliage and stabbed the forest floor.
Chrestien awoke to find herself alone. Grateful for a few minutes to see to her toiletry, she hurried to gather her displaced gown and chainse, and seeing the crumpled material sent a profusion of blushes to her cheeks as she recalled her first night with her lord husband. Now, the morning after, she realized there was no confusing the act of lovemaking—that she had thought herself deflowered before their vows were spoken now embarrassed her, for she had been quite mistaken.
“My lord husband,” she said aloud to know the sound of it. “My lord husband,” she said again with a wistful sigh as she placed her gown over her head and tied the laces. “Weston,” she said, and smiled at the intimacy of it. “My lord husband... Weston,” she concluded happily.
Weston leaned against a tree with the morning’s kill in hand to listen to his wife’s chattering. A grin curled his lip to see her smiling so at the mention of his name, and he decided to play along. “My ladywife... the lady Chrestien.”
She started at the sound of his voice and turned to face him, suffused with blushes. Weston reveled in the emotions that were so apparent in her candid expressions, and it pleased him greatly. A spark of mischief glinted within his eyes as he lifted a brow in challenge. “Or perhaps you prefer Mistress Silver Wolf?”
She returned his mischievous smile. “Aye, though my lord, ’tis not as though I do not deserve it. After all, I have bested the Silver Wolf, not once, but twice.” She raised her brow in challenge and Weston threw his head back and roared with laughter. She was no power-hungry vixen, but she was no slip of a woman either, and the knowledge thrilled him. His good humor sparkled in his eyes.
“’Tis true and, alas, you have discovered precisely why I have wed you. I would keep that detail a family secret, my lovely wife.”
Chrestien grinned and Weston’s breath quickened at the sight of her smile. He had the sudden uncontrollable urge to kiss her soft warm lips yet again. Walking toward her with precisely that purpose, he dropped the rabbit he held, not caring that his breakfast lay at the mercy of the forest’s creatures. He had quite another breakfast in mind. And there was no mistaking his intent as he took his wife in his arms and his lips descended upon hers, branding her with his desire.
Chrestien met his desire with equal fervor. There was no denying him, she realized, as his hands ventured beneath her chainse, touching her feverishly. He slid his arms about her waist, caressing her bare flesh before crushing her to him.
“My lord,” she complained, delighted despite her protest. “I have only just dressed!”
“Shall I stop?” he asked huskily.
Chrestien shook her head, smiling. There was no denying her own need—but then, she’d not even thought to. Her arms went about his neck eagerly and her fingers clutched at the curls at his nape. He gazed into her eyes and his look was as soft as a caress. And then lifting her suddenly, he reclaimed her lips once more, stumbling a few awkward steps and setting her gingerly upon a low, thick tree limb.
Impatiently, he lifted her chainse and gown over her head, tossing them to the wayside, then divested himself of his hauberk. Chrestien didn’t complain about the rough bark biting her arse, for soon she would feel his man’s sword impaling her sweetly.
His hands caught her about the waist as his eyes feasted upon her bosom and his smoky blue eyes lingered there, devouring her with his gaze, letting the fever rise between them. That gaze alone was enough to set her afire, she acknowledged, as her lips rose involuntarily to meet his. Dear God, but it seemed every part of her ached to be touched by him. She wrapped her limbs about his waist, drawing him closer, smiling impishly.
Her innocent daring aroused him and his hand slid to her buttocks, cupping them gently as he raised her. Slowly, savoring the moment, he lifted her breasts to his lips, and suckled each before dropping to his knees with her. Mad with need of her, he urged her backward upon the dewy ground, and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, cherishing the feel of her tender skin against his face. But when he raised himself to look her full in the face he saw the redness upon her cheek caused by his whiskers, and he bent to kiss the rosiness away. Slowly, he worked his way down to her belly, and then to her thighs...
Never had he desired to please a woman so, that he would deny his own need. He didn’t have much to give her, but he vowed to give her everything within his power—beginning with the one thing she had already requested—to see her sister.
Her hair was spread like a crown of golden silk upon the earthen floor, interwoven with jewel tone leaves. But her deep dark eyes were the boldest gems of all. They seemed to plead silently that he continue, beckon unto him to abandon his will. Kneeling over her, he moved to straddle her belly.
She loved him.
The realization left Chrestien breathless.
She moved her hands to the ties of his breeches, eager to show him again. She unlaced them with ease, but her hands trembled and she had to pause a moment to ease the nervous fluttering in her belly. He moved to aid her, but his laces suddenly fell away like winter snow melting in her hands and the muscles in his abdomen flinched in anticipation of her touch.
Chrestien could hardly believe the beauty of her husband. His chest was broad, corded with muscles like no other man’s she’d ever known. His waist was narrow, with a dark streak of hair that ended in curls of black at his groin.
Stunned and at the same time touched by the open a
dmiration in her gaze, Weston nevertheless grimaced as her fingers landed upon his newest scar below his shoulder, the one he’d received at her hands. Gently, she traced the healing wound with her fingertip and when she again raised her eyes to meet his, the beautiful dark pools were brimming with unshed tears. His hand went to her chin and his voice was rough with emotion as he spoke. “Nay, Chrestien, do not… I prefer to see you smiling.”
She raised her fingertips to her lips, as though to kiss them, then touched them to his scar as though bestowing a kiss of healing upon it. He shivered violently over the intimacy of that gesture. It stole his breath away.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “I wish I had not…”
Weston shushed her, smiling ruefully. Looking back on it, he wished she had not either, but now was not the time for regrets. He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed each finger slowly, with great promise.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again and he bent to cover her mouth with his own, for he had no care to hear any more. “Hush, my love. I forgive you.”
Her hand flew between their lips. “But—”
“Hush,” he commanded softly, moving her hand away from his mouth so that he could love her lips once more.
Resigning to his will, her fingers slid down the length of her husband's arms as his mouth covered hers. The kiss was warm and caressing, sending a surge of incredible heat flowing through her body, and Chrestien submitted herself to him then, knowing that never again would her life be her own—even so, she gave of herself willingly, heart and soul.
Once more he positioned himself between her thighs, but this time she raised her hips to give him better access and he buried himself into the depths of her, groaning with pleasure.
Another moan echoed in her ears—this time her own—as her body joined the age old ritual, wildly and without restraint, heat raging between them as no fire ever could.
She met his powerful thrusts with eager ones of her own, and cried out joyfully as tiny delicious tremors multiplied through her body. Though even as she found release, he did not stop and as she lay there beneath him, his body caressing her from the inside, another flame was sparked, and she joined him once more, crying out softly in surprise.
A primal roar sounded through the forest as Weston found his release, and Chrestien followed him yet again, silently, willingly into a haven of pleasure. Sighing contentedly, she went limp in his arms, and he crushed her to him possessively.
“You will be the death of me yet,” he swore. But Chrestien knew it was not a complaint.
Later, once they were dressed and on their way once more, Chrestien could barely keep her thoughts off their loving. As far as first nights went, she might have preferred a bed, but she was glad they had not waited. Never in her life had she felt so close to another human being, at least not quite like this.
She was so deep in thought, daydreaming, that she didn't realize the direction they had ridden until the forest gave way to a familiar clearing. It was not long before Castle Montagneaux was within sight. “You are taking me to my sister?” she asked, shocked.
“Is that not what you wished?”
She had asked him but once, and only once. That he had remembered touched her deeply. “It is, thank you, my lord!” But she was suddenly curious about that first encounter in the woods. “My lord? Why did you come to my aid that day in the woods?”
“Michel and I saw you pass by our camp,” he said. “You looked so pitiful. When the second cavalcade came rushing through, we knew you had not a chance to defend yourselves against them.”
Chrestien furrowed her brow, thinking of Aubert’s revelation. “Aye, but how did you know they were after us?”
“There was no mistaking it, Chrestien. They rode with purpose and they were prepared to do battle.”
They rode in silence as Chrestien contemplated that fact.
“I know you came from Montagneaux?” he said. “But I suspect so too did the others.”
Chrestien turned to peer back at him. “How did you know I came from Montagneaux?”
“Your sister told me.”
“Adelaine?”
“You have another?” Without waiting for her reply, he explained. “I overheard while she relayed the tale to Aleth.”
“So Aleth knows I am not a man. Sweet Mary! What must he think of me now?”
There was a smile in his voice. “I’ll wager he was thankful ’twas not you he married.”
Whether it was said in good humor or nay, Chrestien bristled. She stiffened her back. “If I am such a burden, my lord, why then did you encumber yourself with me?”
“I am quite certain I shall ask myself that very question a thousand times before I meet my maker,” he said jovially.
But it wasn’t funny.
Chrestien wasn’t entirely certain why his answer pained her, but it did. “You lout!” she said. “How can you say such a thing to me? I will petition your king and have the marriage annulled! That, my lord, is what I will do!”
All trace of humor was gone from his tone now. “You will do no such thing!”
“Tell me, why did you wed me—and do not tell me you did it for my honor, for I know now that you did not dishonor me before our vows were spoken.” Her face burned with chagrin and anger. “And you, sir, have surely taken enough innocent maidens to know. So prithee, why did you wed me?” She wanted to hear that he felt something—anything.
“Nay, I did not dishonor you before the vows were spoken, but you are mine now, and there is naught you can do to remedy that fact—not even petitioning the king himself, for ’twas he who commanded us to wed in the first place.”
The words were said, and no amount of regret could erase them.
“Your king ordered us wed?” she asked softly, feeling betrayed, but she couldn’t quite discern why. She had dared to hope that he might want her—that he had wed her because he fancied he could love her… maybe someday.
He said nothing more, but his silence was damning, and Chrestien felt a pang grow in her heart. So the truth was known. At least now there was no need to search for Weston’s motive. Fat tears slipped down her cheeks. She sat erect, without moving, without speaking, and stared ahead at the looming castle, longing for her sister's comforting arms.
Under the shadow of the castle walls, the iron portcullis rose, and Chrestien noted the way the guards greeted Weston. It was obvious they recognized him and were honored by his visit.
I’ll wager he was thankful ’twas not you he married.
She kept her silence until Adelaine appeared in the courtyard. At that moment, the devil himself could not have kept her from her gentle sister and she nearly leapt from the horse’s back in her haste to reach Adelaine.
Weston, it seemed, was possessed of more strength than the devil. He held her back with but his hand. Then, with the very same hand he lifted her effortlessly from the horse and lowered her to the ground.
For his efforts Chrestien gave him her most vicious scowl, and then, with arms outstretched, she ran into her sister’s embrace.
Weston watched as his wife lifted her skirts and flew to her sister.
The two locked in such a fierce embrace that it was difficult to tell one from the other. Were it not for Chrestien’s shorter hair and weathered gown, it would be nearly impossible to tell them apart. But then he remembered her other endearing quality—her blade of a tongue—and knew he could never mistake her for the other.
* * *
“Chrestien! It cannot be so awful as that!” Adelaine rubbed her back as she wailed, and Janelle shook her head in disapproval.
“Cease your tears before your eyes be puffy and red!” Janelle scolded.
She was glad Janelle was here already, waiting on her, but at the moment, she did not appreciate having her feelings minimized. “It is as awful as all that!” Chrestien sobbed. “He does not love me!”
Adelaine peered at her with concern. “He has not hurt you, has he?”
“Nay!
”
Exasperated, Janelle lifted Chrestien’s chin with an old but tender hand. “What does it matter if he does not love ye, child, if he wants ye?” Her question was concluded with a cluck of her tongue. “Fie! When has love ever had aught to do with marriage?”
“Aye, but he does not even truly want me!” Chrestien complained.
“And how do ye know this? Has he said so?” Janelle asked.
Annoyed, Chrestien brushed the maid's hand from her chin. “He does not need to say it, I know it. He did not wed me of his own accord, Janelle. He did so only under King Henry’s mandate. I do not want a marriage that has been forced upon me.”
“Did ye wed him per force?” Janelle asked.
“Nay, but he did wed me per force,” Chrestien argued.
Adelaine paused over the revelation. “Why would King Henry decree your marriage?”
“Oh Adelaine! If only I knew. I can think of naught he would gain by it. Lontaine is no longer mine—'tis yours, I should think—and I have naught else of value!”
“Ah, but ye do,” Janelle insisted. “Ye have much to give, my dear.” Her tone was heartening as she smoothed Chrestien’s golden mass of wild curls.
Adelaine’s brow furrowed, still stuck on the subject of Henry. “It is possible Henry means to give Lontaine to Weston. After all, I cannot believe he would trust Aleth so blindly and ’twould behoove him to have his Wolf guard his back.”
Chrestien’s spirits fell. “That makes sense.”
“But Chrestien, mayhap he does want you as well. Mayhap it was he who requested your hand to his king?” She grinned suddenly. “And I have just the way to discover the truth of the matter. Do you love him? Are you willing?”
Chrestien could scarce find the will to smile. “Truth to tell, I am not at all certain what I feel, Adelaine, save that it gives me great pain to think he does not care for me.”
Chrestien watched as Adelaine’s face lit with the merry look of mischief, and she was a little amused at the turn in roles. In times past, it was Chrestien who schemed. But her curiosity was well piqued and she was almost eager to hear the plan.
Angel of Fire Page 14
