by Geri Borcz
Within her iron and stone cocoon, she picked out Lord Richard's bellows above the varied shouts. To her ears, he expertly directed the harassment's outcome from somewhere near the other end of the wall.
Minutes later a cry went up, and cheers rippled along the battlements. They'd routed the attackers? Her answer came when Rhys rose from his crouch, unceremoniously wrenching her up with him and pinning her against the abrasive stone.
His cold hostility separated them like a vast ocean, though only half an arm's length spread between the two; the impact no less brutal than the gaze bleached of all warmth, or the body that seethed with violence. Hoping such high wroth masked feelings that ran deeper and more tender towards her, Juliana poorly concealed her delight behind an apologetic smile.
Despite the iron nasal that obscured his face, she saw the overwhelming fatigue that dulled the stormy lights in his eyes and drew his stubbled cheeks into a tight line.
She raised a tentative hand to comfort his strain.
He caught it in an iron grip.
"Accursed woman," he said, "I still have the taste of you on my tongue." He shook his head and clenched the hand at his side into a fist. "Madam, you will hie yourself to your chamber and stay there..."
He paused. For unnecessary emphasis? Or to dare a rebuttal? She couldn't decide.
"...We'll discuss this folly anon."
With sudden insight, Juliana guessed the fact a woman had saved his life not only dented his pride but must have embarrassed him in front of the other men.
Witless woman. Witless.
Wisely, Juliana clamped her mouth shut and scurried around him toward the stairs. She flew across the bailey and into the keep as if her feet had grown wings. Once behind the security of her chamber door, she rushed to put herself and her disheveled attire to rights. The coming confrontation demanded a new tact. Though she faced a different battlefield than a man, she still needed the reassurance of the proper armor.
* * *
Rhys dared not turn around and watch Juliana descend to the keep, for fear of shaming himself by grabbing her in a crushing embrace and never letting go. What a besotted fool. He knew better than to trust a noble-born woman, for in the end, they all flung that trust back in your face. Still, to his disgust, he stood full and throbbing just from her nearness.
From atop his galloping horse, Rhys had caught the sun's rays sparkling off green material. The sight stood out amongst the dreary browns of the battlements. Only one woman would rise so early and brave his father's formidable wrath to stand sentinel for him. And knowing Juliana experienced such anxiousness that she defied common sense and watched for his return had soared through Rhys and filled him with overwhelming happiness.
God's death, in that heart-stopping moment he'd have fought his way through a thousand men and gladly run his expensive destrier to ground to wallow in the comfort of her waiting arms and drink of her reassuring essence.
Then, he'd gaped like a simpleton, astonished that she not only brandished a crossbow over the high wall, but she fired an arrow straight at him. Only battle-quick reflexes prodded him to duck the bolt that whizzed past his shoulder, while his hopes crumpled at his feet and all of his joy turned to dross.
Her tempting features and trembling voice still burned into his mind, but he curbed his softer emotions until they hardened to ice. Hurt and betrayal clawed at his insides, numbing him to any other sensation.
Turning on Oliver and pointing a damning finger, Rhys bellowed, "Guards."
Two archers obeyed and grabbed Oliver's arms. His crossbow clattered to the stone.
"Bring him before me in a quarter hour."
Without sparing a white-faced Oliver another glance, Rhys spun on his heel and shouted down into the bailey for Alain to post a guard barring Juliana's chamber door. The words tore from Rhys's throat with splintered bits of his heart.
He squelched any tender emotion and steeled himself to rational thinking. Duty first, then he'd deal with the hellcat.
After a short conference on the wall, he puzzled over hearing that the castle suffered inconvenience during his absence more than harm. To his trained eye, the defenses stood unscathed and the reports bespoke only a few minor injuries.
What mischief was Roger up to?
While descending to the bailey, Rhys worried that Roger hadn't made a move on them beyond their few paltry clashes. Nothing less than a lengthy siege or inner treachery would yield the castle, yet no signs of either loomed on the horizon.
Rhys skidded to a halt.
That is, no signs had loomed until the arrow this morn.
Repeatedly, Juliana had begged freedom to return to her brother's keeping. Had she finally chosen, then, to side with Roger after all?
Rhys's body hummed in unwilling response to her image, and he growled a coarse oath, then flung his helm to hit with a sharp crack against the stable's wooden slats.
Despite the proof of his own eyes, Rhys prayed it wasn't so. Frustration ate at him. He needed answers and all he received were more questions.
After a quick check of the perimeter defenses, he rid himself of his hauberk and the first layer of travel grime, then sought out Richard to briefly relate the details of his failed sojourn to the Scottish court.
Once he'd completed those bare essentials of command, he bounded up the entry stairs and up to the third floor.
* * *
Stripping down to skin, Juliana washed away the residue of fear with clumsy fingers, and as the anxious minutes ticked by, fought a swelling panic. It was one thing to talk about bargaining with Rhys, quite another to actually do it. Now that the time drew nigh, the prospect was daunting in the extreme.
Once her practical side asserted itself, she knew with cold clarity what the result of her bargaining would be. She'd stood on the shifting sand of pride long enough.
The brother she loved would live in a corner of her heart, but she couldn't abide the man he'd become. It was her duty to protect those she loved from the cruelty of his grasping hands.
Rhys wanted her land, but she'd sparked his lust and his jealousy. Surely the woman in her could build more from that slim foundation? His response to her proved his one weakness. With little else in her arsenal, she'd wield the weapon of his desire to gain concessions.
But to accomplish them, she counted on Rhys's honesty. Any success in negotiating hinged on this. If Rhys agreed to her terms, Juliana knew with certainty that he'd not stain his honor, but keep faith with her.
A sudden clack of the door latch and the creak of leather hinges resounded in the silent chamber.
The time had come.
Juliana drew in a fortifying breath and stiffened her resolve, then turned to meet her future head on.
* * *
Rhys slammed the heavy door behind him.
"Come here," he said.
Juliana moved slowly away from the arrow slit and inched toward him, resplendent in a chestnut bedrobe that hugged her curves and heightened her sultry coloring. The image of licking his tongue across all the warm skin hidden by the cloth rose in his mind, and his groin tightened painfully.
Her eyes wide and her arms outstretched, she held her palms toward him, beseeching tolerance.
God rot her. How well she played the innocent. White heat exploded in his brain.
"Madam," he said. "You forswore your oath to behave."
"I know 'twas wrong and I own you've a right to--"
On a savage growl, he grabbed her upper arms and slung her light weight backward towards the curtained bed. She grappled for balance in her short flight and tore one heavy panel from the overhead rod. The material billowed and sailed to the floor.
She sprawled upon her back, a tangle of bedrobe and shapely legs, in the middle of the coverlet. His body jerked to its fullest at the lush sight. Ignoring the damage, he followed her and pinned her into the feather mattress.
"Nay," he hissed, forestalling her speech. "I'm beyond anger."
Rhys glared into her shocked eyes
and drew in a tight breath filled with her scent. The scent of a woman begging to be ravished. She resembled a fox trapped by the hounds, and he read the fight in her eyes.
"Get off me, you oaf," she said, ineffectually pushing against him before abandoning the struggle and lying back.
"I saw you with the crossbow in your hand."
"And? Do you think I'd be so foolish as to try and deny what you saw?" Blowing an irritated breath, she lowered her lashes. "Aye, punish me for disobedience, if you must, but I hadn't thought you incapable of tempering your actions with justice."
The guilt lurking in the depths of her eyes pierced him like a dagger, yet his unruly lust clamored for her still. Rage and hurt and desire assailed him, all at once.
"Justice? Wench, you nearly killed me!"
To his astonishment, she wrinkled her face in insult.
"Since you enjoy a passable amount of health, my lord, 'twould seem I suffered more in my folly than you."
Nose to nose, he recognized her apprehension, the last thing he ever dreamt of seeing in the expressive amber eyes that gazed up at him from his bed.
By the Rood, he needed to understand.
Bracing himself above her, an elbow imprisoning each side of her shoulders, he clasped both hands about her head and neck.
"You're so fragile," he murmured, kneading her skin. "I could snap the bones in an instant." His hands shook as he searched her face for truth. "Was I cruel to you, Ana? Did I beat you? Starve you? Did I harm you in any way?"
His traitorous thumbs moved on their own, relearning the texture of her delicate skin, skimming the dips and hollows where his lips longed to go. The fragrance of roses, clinging to her hair, teased his nostrils straight to his loins.
"Of course, not," she said, crinkling her forehead.
"Isobel, then," he dared guess past the fear squeezing his chest. "Is that it? You hate me because of Isobel?"
"Now which of us makes no sense? I don't hate you, and what has that sweet child to do with this?"
He ignored her question; now wasn't the time.
"Then, why?" he said. "Why?"
She lay too close, smelled too good, enticed too well. His body, far too long denied, rioted for her fire. Rhys slipped to his side and dragged her into his chest, tormenting himself with the feel of her curvaceous body molded to his planes. Rocking her in his arms, he tucked her head under his chin, the stubble raking the hair on the crown of her head.
"Tell me why, Ana?" he said, striving for calm.
"Rhys, I've decided—that is. . ."
Emotion throbbed in her voice, and he held his breath, afraid to listen to a reason so obviously burdensome to utter.
"'Tis difficult to wed a dead man," she finally whispered from within the cradle of his neck and shoulder.
Dead.
Rhys heard in her words, so softly and hesitantly spoken, the death knell of all his hopes. Juliana had finally made her choice, and it wasn't he.
He didn't know how to touch her heart.
His spirit lost all strength with her quiet confession, while need raged through his veins in a scalding fury.
Cursed woman, did she bewitch him that he wanted her no matter what? No matter the cost to his pride? Disgust with himself rose so violently, it threatened to choke him.
With a savage thrust, he pushed her away and wheeled to the door.
"Wait. Rhys? You can't walk out," she cried. "You can't push me aside. Wait."
She scrambled off the bed, ducked around him, and tried to block his hand from the latch. Throwing herself against the wood, she braced the closed door with her back.
Stunned, Rhys watched the pale skin of her chest rise and fall in hurried breaths past the gaping robe and saw desperation and determination glitter from every pore.
So beautiful.
His hands trembled with the force he mustered to keep from tearing the bedrobe and seizing her body.
"By the Rood, wait for what, madam?"
Her face lost all color and her bottom lip trembled, but she refused to back down.
Aye, a little warrior.
"You once said that one day I'd seek you out willingly."
Rhys's heart slammed into his chest before he recovered himself.
"Well, more fool I," he said and again tried to reach the latch.
Again, she blocked his effort.
"Here I am. I'm seeking you out, my lord."
That stopped him cold.
Rhys dropped his hand to his side, unable to credit his hearing. The unruly fellow confined in his chausses leapt for joy.
Juliana nodded and indicated into the chamber with her chin, her voice gaining strength.
"And there's the bed. I'm willing to lie with you, Rhys. Here. Now. What say you? Are you willing to lie with me?"
"You dare much to challenge me," he said, surprised at the calmness in his voice.
Soft, delectable, willing. He'd waited and wanted so long. He watched a dewy pink tip dart out to moisten her lips and pull him in to paradise.
"Have enough days passed?" he said, throwing out anything to dissuade meeting her challenge, more than in true worry about the roadblock of her woman's time.
She confirmed his previous assumption with a blush and a smile of singular sweetness. "Three days more than enough."
For a long heartbeat, Rhys and his pride teetered on a dangerous cliff. Never before had he desired a woman as much as he desired this woman right now.
Had he truly backed her so far into a corner that she saw no way out other than his death?
Aye. He'd spared her wants no thought. He'd taken everything from her and offered no options but to accept him.
Or to rid herself of him.
She'd never surrender. She might bend to suit the clime—she was a survivor—but she'd never break.
His righteous indignation melted away like an early mist beneath the rising sun, and in its place lay the familiar emptiness.
An instinct stronger than reason gripped him in its talons, and pride hit the ground with a dull thump. But Rhys missed the sound in the roar of his blood.
The day was not yet won.
He could pretend. Aye, if that was the price he was to pay, he could pretend Juliana loved him, as much as he loved her.
"Take off your clothes, Ana."
~~~~
CHAPTER 19
Juliana quaked inside. Anger she expected. Few men offered a warm thanks to the woman who pointed out their shortcomings or, heaven forbid, dared to ape men. But his rage at her disobedience and display of warring talents ran hotter than she ever expected.
To make matters worse, she'd panicked upon realizing his contempt when she bungled her consent to wed him.
God help her, she'd been through hell deciding on this man with a will of granite. If proving herself the one true mate for him meant she now had to swallow every ounce of pride, then so be it. She'd opened her mouth to plead and had surprised herself by uttering such a wanton suggestion, but once said, the dam of restraint burst open.
Before Rhys left the chamber, Juliana intended to show him no mercy.
By the grace of God and her own resolve, she'd not step meekly aside again for any man. Whether Rhys realized it, he belonged to her—all of him belonged to her—and Juliana meant to use every wile she possessed to bind him to her forever.
"First, I want to see you," she murmured, pressing so close the soft mounds of her breasts tantalized the hard muscles in his chest. "All of you."
His eyes widened, then narrowed, but he gave her free rein.
Nimble fingers skimmed his front and untied the belt at his waist. She dropped the heavy scabbard to the rushes with a clunk, then lifted his tunic hem. In one swift motion, Rhys shed the clothing barrier over his head to land, unheeded, next to the belt.
On a low, pleasurable gasp, Juliana caught her breath at the beauty of the repressed strength and power revealed before her hungry eyes. A mixture of excitement and fear saturated her body in a di
zzying rush.
"Do I please you?"
"You're a big man," she said, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable. "But beautiful."
"Men are not beautiful," he said.
She drew a sensitive fingertip across his chest and saw a shiver follow in its wake. "Perhaps not. You're the only one I've met who is."
She doubted she'd ever feast her gaze enough. Bronze skin, the color of warm honey with a light dusting of dark hair, stretched from shoulder to shoulder. Strong arms, molded by the rigors of battle training, framed resilient muscles that tapered to a lean belly. Her appreciative gaze traced the thin line of hair that disappeared into the top of his chausses, and halted on his arousal.
Juliana sighed--all man--all hers to taste and explore at her leisure. For now, anyway. Warmth burst in her stomach and lower, a sunburst of fire that ignited longing in every nerve, bringing an urgency that bolstered her determination to win this man's love.
Love? She blinked. Aye, using that word when thinking about him suited as well as king and queen, man and woman. Juliana and Rhys. There was no hope for it; she loved him.
The light pressure of a finger coaxed her chin upwards until their gazes met.
"I'd never hurt you, Ana," he whispered, "nor force you to do anything you didn't wish to do."
She smiled up at him, a seductive grin that drew a sharp breath from deep within his throat. Bending her head to him, like a kitten savoring a bowl of cream, she sprinkled kisses along the shelf of his bare shoulder. Then she licked the rapid pulse beating in his neck, before questing lips trailed slow fire through the ebony curls matting his chest.
