The Protector's Promise (Border Series Book 7)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “I am betrothed to no one,” she said. “I just meant . . . it is one of the many, many reasons I should not be alone with you in your bedchamber now.”

  She is not betrothed.

  And what in God’s bones was wrong with him? Would it have made a difference if she were?

  Aye. It would have mattered. When he touched Marion . . . even when he simply looked at her . . . one thought ran through his head: mine.

  He took a step back toward her and captured her neck from behind. “We have established that this is foolish and wrong. But by God, Marion, I’ve never wanted anything in my life more than I want to kiss you again. To tear off that gown of yours and cherish what lies beneath it.”

  To make you mine in truth.

  When he brought her head toward him this time, the kiss was gentler. While their tongues tousled, Court finally allowed himself to explore the maddening desire that she’d awakened in him.

  Dipping his hand beneath the fabric of her neckline, he reached lower until his hand was able to cup the round, beautiful breast below. Taking it firmly in his grasp, Court teased her nipple with his thumb as he continued to show Marion with his mouth how deeply he needed her. When she moaned beneath him, a kitten-like purr that instantly hardened his cock, he released her breast and prepared to replace his hand with his mouth.

  Trailing kisses from her mouth downward, he shoved the fabric on her shoulder aside and continued his exploration. He didn’t dare open his eyes. The sight of her breast beneath his mouth might crack his already-thin resolve to leave his Scottish noblewoman a virgin this night. But by the time his mouth finally reached her hardened nipple, Court was not sure how long that resolve would last anyway.

  Marion grasped his hair at the back of his head and pulled him closer. He met her demands, nipping and squeezing, showing her exactly how much pleasure she could expect from him that night.

  When Court finally backed up and gazed into her wide, clear green eyes, he felt an unmistakable tug on his heart.

  “We cannot continue,” he said.

  Marion licked her lips. If she did that again, there would be no turning back.

  “I’ve never felt like this,” she said, her honesty so endearing that Court couldn’t decide if he wanted to ravish her or protect her for all eternity.

  “There’s something between us, Marion. If it were not for the stone, for your position—”

  “My position?”

  He stepped back and ran his hands through his hair.

  “You are an earl’s daughter. And I—”

  “You believe that is the biggest problem between us?”

  The moment was gone. Thankfully. Marion righted her gown and crossed her arms. His feisty Scottish lass had returned.

  “That . . . and the stone.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “Not the stone. Your stubborn refusal to see what is in front of you. The ‘peace’ you talk of so fondly is about to be ripped to pieces by the very person who claims to cherish it.”

  “I have no choice,” he ground out, tired of this argument. Tired of fighting with her. With himself.

  “You always have a choice.”

  With that, she pushed against him, ripped open the door, and left.

  A good thing, because Court had nearly made the biggest mistake of his life.

  7

  He had nearly taken her virginity.

  Four days later, Court climbed the stairs that led to Camburg’s round hall. Named by the lord who’d once ruled here, a man with no heirs who’d allowed the castle to revert back to the crown, the round hall was nothing more than a circular chamber atop the east tower. The four windows gave him the best—and most well-lit—view in the castle. Staring out of one shuttered window, Court could see as far away as the small village they’d skirted on their way back from Scotland. Beyond that and slightly to the north, he could see the land that would become his once Moordon was captured.

  He would continue to hold Camburg for Kenshire, but he could finally begin a life of his own rather than one loaned to him. One that did not include a blasted stone and a redheaded woman who tormented his thoughts every moment—waking and sleeping. Or her prickly guards who had arrived two days earlier, along with the men he’d sent to find them.

  Court pushed his surcoat aside and reached down into the pouch he carried at all times. Pulling on the gold chain, he lifted the emerald stone and laid it out on his hand. This simple stone was responsible for all that had transpired since he awoke with the mark. Without it, he never would have met Marion.

  Turning it over in his hand, Court felt nothing out of the ordinary. And after speaking to the elders of Camburg over the past few days, he was no closer to learning more about his own role in Marion’s legend.

  Sounds filtered to him. Court tightened his grip, hiding the stone from view as the door creaked open.

  “Marion.”

  The sight of her took his breath away, affecting him as potently as if he’d not avoided her for days. The green overtunic above her cream-colored kirtle matched her eyes.

  “’Tis a wonder you remember my name.” She closed the door behind her, looking around the room. Using the candle she’d brought with her, she proceeded to light each of the three wall torches.

  “I hadn’t noticed the dark before. ’Tis usually quite light in here.”

  She placed the candle on the small table beside them.

  The nearness of her was almost unbearable. This was why he’d been taking meals in his solar. Why he’d been meeting and training, leaving Marion to explore. Why he’d been unable to sleep. Unable to think straight. Unable to do much of anything except wonder what it would be like to give in to temptation. To toss Marion onto his bed and spend an entire night pleasuring her.

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  There was no use denying it.

  “We need to talk, Court.”

  For one wild moment, he envisioned himself laying waste to the contents of the table before them, clearing it to make way for Marion’s luscious body.

  “Court?”

  He had to get out of here.

  “I can’t—” He tried to move past her, but this time it was she who stopped him.

  “Please.”

  Her hand branded him, the linen shirt not enough of a barrier against the heat of her touch.

  “I need to know how long we’ll be here,” she pressed. “How long until—”

  “One more week.” He could no longer deny her. Not when she stood so close, not when she was touching him. He turned as her hand fell. “One more week and I will be gone. Afterward, the stone is—”

  “Gone where?”

  “Marion, please.” It was his turn to beg.

  “I know about Halbury Castle.”

  Light flickered across her skin, illuminating her faint freckles as well as her eyes, which reflected every bit of the judgment he deserved.

  “And?” he said, his voice harsh.

  “That is why you are intent on this mission. Not because you are ‘following orders.’”

  If she had approached him with caution, it was gone now.

  “Not because Almain is the king’s regent.”

  Kissing her was not the only way to stop her from saying it aloud, but it was one way. And so he kissed her with every bit of the pent-up desire he’d felt over the past few days. His body was immediately engulfed in a raging battle, one he was not certain he’d win.

  One he didn’t want to win.

  When his lips touched hers, Marion cursed herself for a fool. She’d intended to confront him about his planned attack, not to end up in his arms again. But the passion they shared for each other had changed her, and she found it difficult to go back to playing the earl’s innocent daughter. She was not the woman who’d set out on a quest to become the next protector of Scotland. She was a woman who understood desire, who could recognize the fluttering deep within her body for what it was. One who, despite her best intentions, would n
ot stop this dangerous course.

  With every flick of their dueling tongues, Marion was pulled deeper and deeper into an irreversible decision. One that would infuriate her parents, change her future, and bind her to the man she’d sworn to overcome. Despite the implications of lying with a man that was not to be her husband, Marion could not seem to pull herself away.

  When his mouth moved from her lips to her neck, Marion tossed her head back to give him greater access. Since her arms could not fully encircle his broad chest and shoulders, she did the best she could, gripping his tunic and clinging to him lest her legs give out under her.

  “So sweet,” he murmured against her neck.

  She’d come here to confront him about the attack.

  Not for this.

  At least, that was the story she told herself. But the way her body responded, the things he made her feel . . . some of her, maybe all of her, had hoped their last kiss would lead to more.

  When he abruptly pulled away, the loss was immediate. One moment, his hands and lips were on her . . . the next, he crossed the room toward the door.

  He locked it.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  Turning, Court stood by the door and simply watched her. She took in his tunic, opened wide at the collar allowing for a peek beneath. His expression was predatory and male, one that sent a shiver down her spine.

  She thought he would say something then, but instead he moved to the table at the center of the room, swept its contents off with one swipe of his arm. A ledger went flying to the ground, and before Marion could see its final destination, Court was in front of her. He picked her up easily and carried her to the edge of the table. When he positioned her in front of him, she could feel the most intimate part of him pressed against her stomach.

  He lowered his head once more, both hands gripping the back of her head, as if she needed encouragement. Every thrust of his tongue, movement of his hips, made her want more. She returned his kiss greedily.

  “Something . . . ,” she tried to say. But how could she describe this new pressure in her core? This tingling deep within her that longed to be set free?

  He tore his lips from hers and looked into her eyes. Ever so slowly, his hand moved back down until it reached the hem of her kirtle. Lifting both it and the undertunic up at once, Court closed his eyes. A primitive sound escaped him as soon as his hand found her bare flesh. Still looking into her eyes, he pushed aside each barrier until he reached the part of her no one else had ever touched.

  Marion should have been embarrassed enough to break eye contact, to turn away. She held his gaze instead, mesmerized by the dance of his fingers on her skin.

  “What are you doing?”

  Court’s only answer was a slow, sensual smile that made her insides pulse. His smile deepened as he slid his fingers inside her. With his free hand, he opened her leg as he pressed and withdrew, circling and flicking his fingers.

  Marion was lost.

  Gripping each side of the wooden table, she resisted the urge to close her eyes, wanting to see his face, wanting to watch his expression as it changed from pleasure to . . . something else. No longer smiling, Court looked at her with an intensity she recognized. This was what he’d looked like the day she’d warned him about the reivers. Determined, resolved. But this time, the only threat was that she’d lose her heart to the enemy.

  “I’ve imagined doing this every night since waking with you pressed against me.”

  Marion tried to breathe.

  Court lifted his chin, his hand pumping faster now. “And this is just a taste.”

  The intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of his fingers inside her, she wanted to hold on to this moment forever. But Marion simply couldn’t. She did close her eyes then, pushing her hips toward the delicious sensations that were building and building . . .

  “Come for me, sweet Marion.”

  A pulsing sensation at her very core gripped her like a violent wave, turning her around and around so that she couldn’t tell up from down. Squeezing the table, trying to catch her breath, Marion finally found her way. Now the sensations were like an ebb and flow, still pleasurable but not threatening to drown her.

  When she opened her eyes, Court seemed quite pleased with himself. He licked his lips, leaving a trail of wetness behind.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, unable to look away from his wicked lips.

  When he raised an eyebrow rakishly, Marion knew she’d said the wrong thing. This time, his movement was deliberate. His tongue not only darted out, but it captured the lip below. She simply could not look away.

  “You shouldn’t have told me you liked it.”

  She reached up to one of his biceps and squeezed, giving in to another one of her curiosities. He was as hard as the table she sat on.

  “Who said I liked it?” she teased, not wanting their easy banter to end.

  “You did ask me to stop.”

  “And I also asked you not to attack my people,” she said, aware her words would ruin the moment, but unable to stop herself. “But you did not reconsider.”

  “A discussion for another day.”

  “Another day? When the attack is imminent?”

  He looked as if he’d argue with her. Instead, he took a step back and held out his hand to assist her off the table. “Tomorrow?”

  He stood so close that Marion could feel the heat of his body.

  “You’ll not disappear on me again?”

  Court lifted his hand and laid it on her cheek. For a man so large, his touch was surprisingly gentle. “I don’t make promises that I do not intend to keep.”

  You’ve made none to me.

  But it was better than nothing. “Aye,” she agreed. “I look forward to it.”

  Unfortunately for her, she looked forward to more than just their discussion.

  8

  “All is ready, my lord.”

  Court’s captain and most trusted advisor, who had been with him since he left Kenshire, bowed as he began to leave.

  “Shall I send in the Scot?”

  Court nodded. The leader of Marion’s small band of men, Kenneth, had requested an early audience with him. He entered the solar chamber and did not waste time on a greeting.

  “How much longer must we stay here?”

  “I don’t believe, sir, that is any of your concern.”

  “I have been charged with—”

  Court stood and took a step forward. “With following your lady’s orders. And she told you, quite clearly, you are to remain at Camburg for a fortnight, at least. And await further orders.”

  Kenneth scowled. “I cannot stand by with my lady a prisoner—”

  “Prisoner? Is that what she told you?” He knew she’d said nothing of the sort to her man. It was obvious he simply did not trust her judgment, which for some reason infuriated him.

  “Not precisely, but—”

  “But you think to take control of a woman you serve, one who clearly has the intelligence to carry out her duties.”

  The look Kenneth gave him was so full of contempt he had no doubt the man would have attacked him had it furthered his cause.

  “I suggest,” Court said when Kenneth turned to leave, “you speak to Lady Marion if you have further concerns.”

  He left and Court sank back into his seat. Before parting from Marion last eve, he’d promised to find her before his training session. It was time to do just that, but she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

  Delaying, Court thought about the evening before. The raging need to be inside her, claim her, the uncontrollable urge to be the first to show Marion what could come of the passion that he’d awoken in her. It couldn’t be, no matter how much he wanted it. The attack, the stone . . . if only their circumstances had been different.

  It was for the best that the attack would be over soon. If all went well, he’d be gone less than one week. And then he could give her the stone and return to his normal world. One of his own ch
oosing. Though not, unfortunately, one which included Marion.

  He rose and after a brief search found her in the great hall . . . playing chess?

  “Your move, my lady.”

  A young knight named Marcus sat across from her. And though the hour was still early, the men’s training not yet begun for the day, Court nearly ordered the knight out of the hall. Marcus looked at Marion the way any man would regard such a beautiful woman. Unbidden, a vision of Marion in the round tower, her head back, hair streaming all around her, assaulted him.

  “You wished to speak to me?”

  Both she and Marcus startled at his tone. Sensing his displeasure, the knight scrambled to his feet and left them alone. Or as alone as they could be in a crowded great hall.

  “Only if you can manage a civil conversation, my lord?”

  He was tempted to say that he could not.

  “Come.”

  Without waiting for her, angry at himself for his reaction to a simple game of chess, Court led her out of the hall and down a secret passageway. Descending a few stone stairs, he opened a door, which led to—

  “A garden!”

  None used this path but he. Shielded from the rest of the herb and flower garden, this patch of greenery and the small courtyard surrounding it was a rare private space. One he wanted to share with Marion.

  “’Tis lovely,” she said, her hands gliding across the coralbells as she walked.

  It is you who are lovely.

  “Why are you so cross with me this morn?”

  Not prepared for the question, Court scowled in answer. “I am not—”

  “Aye,” she cut in. “You are.”

  She wore the same riding gown, now laundered, as when they’d first met. Her hair, no longer flowing freely, was clasped back on both sides, a simple twist holding the remainder in place.

  He couldn’t very well tell her the truth about his ill-considered jealousy. Instead, he broached another equally delicate topic.

  “I know you hope that I may reconsider the attack—”

  “But you will not,” she finished for him.