Loving the Knight: Book 2: Eryndal & Andrew (The Hansen Series: Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  “Will ye marry me?” he asked in a clear, low tone.

  Her throat tightened and her heart screamed silently, pounding on the wall of her chest. Yes! “No, Drew. That’s not possible. I beg you not to ask me again.”

  His eyes narrowed, darkened. “Then why?”

  Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away. “I may marry… the constable”—whose name she could not bring herself to say at this moment—“but more likely, I shall not. I have no other suitors and, considering the diminished state of the world, I don’t foresee anyone else knocking at my door.”

  “All the more reason,” he began.

  She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Please Drew, hear me out.”

  He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. She could feel his heart beating strong and steady. His message was unspoken, but it was clear.

  Eryn sniffed and cleared her throat. “That being a likely description of my future, I want to… I mean, just one time in my life…”

  Silence.

  “Eryn?”

  Time to say it straight out. “I want to experience the joining of two bodies with a man who stirs passion deeply in my soul.” The words came out in a rush, but at the least they came out clearly.

  Drew’s face paled. “My God, Eryn.”

  He looked so stunned that she braced herself for his refusal. She would take supper this evening in her room. Do her work at night while Drew slept. Sleep during the day until he was gone. Maybe now that she had shocked him, he would leave sooner.

  “I stir passion deeply in your soul?” Awestruck wonder sculpted his expression.

  She could not allow the conversation to veer in that direction. She would not survive it. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “I need to think a moment.” He leaned back and her hand fell to his thigh. She yanked it back to her own lap. He rubbed his upper lip with a long finger while his eyes jumped from her to the fire and back again.

  This was simply too much. Eryn rose to leave.

  Drew jumped forward and grabbed her arm. “Don’t go.”

  She looked down her nose at him. “I can see you have no interest. I’m sorry I asked.”

  “No interest?” he yelped. “Saints’ blood, Eryn! How could ye think that?”

  She crumpled back into her chair. No words came to her, so she stared somberly at the man who held her happiness—brief as it would be—in his decision.

  “I do no’ want to hurt ye. And I am no’ certain this is a wise thing to do,” he said.

  “Well I am.” She wasn’t at all. This was a dangerous path. Her heart thumped in her chest while fifteen years of the nuns’ dire warnings droned in her ears like a dirge for her virginity. It was too late to recant. Her head may object, but everything lower began to pulse in anticipation. “I only need your assent. Or your denial.”

  At that, Drew slid from his chair and knelt in front of her so they were eye-to-eye. One hand cupped the back of her head and the other rested on her waist. She leaned into the kiss, unwilling to hold herself from him, even in this.

  The kiss was unusually tender. A tactile promise not to hurt her. A flavorful promise of the fruit he would allow her to taste. Acquiescence, and anticipation.

  “Aye, my bonny harpy,” he whispered. “I can no’ deny ye when I want ye so badly.”

  She tried to jerk her head back at the slur, but he held her too firmly.

  “Harpy?” she rasped.

  His knowing grin was more intimate than the kiss. “You’re no’ such a hard woman as ye want me to believe, Lady Eryndal Bell. I can see right through ye.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  December 29, 1354

  Tonight.

  Eryn’s tummy fluttered and her hands shook just a little.

  Drew procured the material for the sheath yesterday, but fair weather had them all working out-of-doors for so long that she was exhausted. He deferred their joining until tonight, explaining that he wanted her to enjoy the experience fully—and sore muscles and heavy eyelids would most definitely get in the way.

  So it would be tonight.

  Eryn ordered baths for both of them, and ignored Jamie’s inquisitive looks. She told Drew she would come to him because the bed was bigger in the master chamber. The truth was she didn’t want memories of him in her bed haunting the rest of her life at the estate.

  She hardly ate at supper, and her conversation with Drew consisted of frivolous questions and short answers about the weather. It seemed her tongue was getting into the annoying habit of failing her when she needed it most.

  This is a fine time for that prayer to be answered.

  Drew poured her an extra goblet of wine and whispered, “Relax, my lady.”

  “I cannot,” she answered. “My belly is full of birds.”

  He grinned. “Do ye mean butteries?”

  “No.” She took a hefty gulp of the wine. “The birds ate them.”

  Drew laughed, but he laid his hand over hers. “If ye are that worried, we do no’ have to do this.”

  “Oh, yes we do!” she quipped. “I just wish time would pass more quickly and we could get on with it.”

  His expression softened. He looked pensive, remote.

  “What are you thinking?” Eryn asked, unsure that she wanted to know.

  He blinked his gaze away from hers. “How much harder it will be to leave ye after tonight.”

  Now she knew that she didn’t want to know. Or maybe she did. To be certain he would miss her was comforting in a futile sort of way. She chewed another bite of some manner of food. Of what, she could not have said.

  Drew stood and stepped behind her chair. “Go take your bath.”

  “I’m not finished with my dinner,” she claimed.

  “In truth, you could no’ mangle it more if ye actually chewed it.” He tugged at her seat. “I’ll go bathe as well. Join me when ye are ready.”

  Eryn stood and faced Drew.

  He kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’ll be waiting.”

    

  Eryn’s toes were wrinkled like an old man’s neck. The bath water had grown cool. It was time.

  She climbed from the wooden tub and scrubbed her skin with linen towels until it was pink. She donned a fine woolen gown with nothing underneath it. The fabric was a little scratchy against her skin, but it made her more aware of what she was about to do.

  “And I won’t be wearing it for long,” she muttered.

  That thought frightened her so, she almost changed her mind. But when she closed her eyes and imagined Drew’s beautiful face, his tingling touch, and his overpowering kisses, she knew her path was set.

  Eryn dropped to her knees and crossed herself. “Father, forgive me if I am wrong. And bless this night, I pray. You know my situation better than any.”

  It was time.

  The passageway was quiet and dark, now that the sun completed its winter’s early departure. Eryn tiptoed to Drew’s door. She knocked with one knuckle.

  “Come in.”

  Eryn pushed the door open. Eyes down, she stepped inside the master chamber and shut the door behind her. Then she latched it. Finally, she looked up in search of Drew.

  His tub was already cleared away and he sat by the fire in a long linen shirt. He stood when she entered and she could see the silhouette of his muscular frame as the fire shone through the fabric. He walked toward her and lifted a goblet in her direction.

  “Wine, my lady?”

  She nodded. Taking the goblet, she gulped the contents, draining it. Before she could wipe the wetness from her lips, Drew took her mouth in his. The kiss was deep, possessive, and spiced with wine. The chalice clunked to the floor. Eryn grasped the sleeves of his shirt in an effort to right her world. She smelled the serviceable soap Drew washed with, and its simple scent was perfect on him; clean and strong.

  When he pulled away from the kiss, his eyes were simply golden rings around black centers.

  “Are ye af
raid?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Your body knows. Follow your instincts. Ye can no’ do it wrong.”

  And he kissed her again. This time his hands tugged at her gown, lifting the hem until he could slide his palms up her thighs, over her hips, and around her waist. His hands were hot against her cooled skin. It felt good. It gave her gooseflesh. She moaned against his mouth.

  The burgeoning fullness under his shirt pressed against her thigh.

  “See?” he murmured into her hair, his breath warming her scalp. “Ye are doing it right already.”

  Then he backed away from her. He lifted his shirt off over his head and laid it across the chair. Then he stood by the fire. He spread his arms. “Would ye want to touch me, Eryn? Make yourself familiar?”

  That was exactly what she needed; she nodded her relief. “You don’t mind?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I think it will allay your fears, once ye ken my body.”

  Eryn ignored the obvious part of him that this whole night was about and started with his hair.

  She slid her fingers through the thick waves, dark as a moonless night. They puddled on his shoulders and curved around his throat. She smoothed his black eyebrows. She traced her thumbs over his cheekbones, then down the edge of his freshly shaved jaw. The skin there was paler than his cheeks. He does wear a beard most of the time.

  Over his chin to his lips. They were firm and a little chapped. They twitched in and out of a smile. His eyes never left hers.

  Her fingers moved down his neck and she fenced in his Adam’s apple with her thumbs.

  “This is where that deep voice of yours comes from,” she said.

  “A-a-y-y-e,” he growled. The vibrations tickled all the way to her belly.

  She leaned up and kissed the dip between his collar bones, tracing it with her tongue. This time he moaned a little. So she did it again.

  When she ran her hands out to his shoulders, she began to see his battle scars. Both arms had puckered pink slashes on them. A slice of hairless skin on his chest was mortally close to his heart.

  She traced each one with a finger tip, and then kissed it in benediction. The black curls embellishing his chest tickled her palms. She licked the little nubs that peeked through and gained another moan in response.

  The hairs convened into a narrow downward line on his belly. She circled his naval, marveling at how soft his skin was there, and stroked down his hips until she reached another black forest of hair on his thighs. She moved her hands back up to his hips.

  Drew tipped her face toward his with a knuckle. “Do no’ be afraid, Eryn. Do ye no’ want to touch it?”

  She swallowed her embarrassment, and nodded.

  It had softened some since he first took off his shirt. But the more she played with it, the larger and firmer it got.

  “It’s growing again,” she whispered.

  “Aye. It does that,” he chuckled. He pulled back the foreskin so she could see it all.

  “Oooh,” she breathed. Once exposed, it was smoother than she imagined; like warm polished marble. She looked up at him. “It’s so big. Does it truly fit?”

  “It’s smaller than a babe, and they make their way out.” He touched her face tenderly, his brow bunching. “But, it might hurt a bit the first time, ye ken.”

  “I have been warned. The nuns made it sound horrid.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “But if it was so, I doubt there would be so many happy wives.”

  Drew shrugged his agreement. “A gentle husband cares for his wife’s first time—if he kens how.”

  “And you do?” she asked, hating the quaver in her voice.

  “Aye… May I take your gown?”

  Wordlessly—for once in her life—Eryn lifted her arms and the woolen gown rose over her head taking its warmth with it. She stood still, chilled in the cool air, and naked in front of a man for the first time in her entire life. She didn’t know where to look.

  Drew was so quiet, she was afraid he was repulsed. Without lifting her chin, she glanced up at him from under her lashes. The reverence in his expression stunned her.

  “Holy Mother of God, Eryn,” he croaked. “Ye are so incredibly beautiful.”

    

  She had been to Heaven. That was the only explanation for what she experienced.

  First it was the disorientation and weightlessness, then the explosion of lights behind her eyes. A tingling that began at the point of their joining gained strength and flooded outward to the very tips of her fingers and toes. The beauty of the moment stole her breath; she could only gasp, twitch, and try to hold on to it.

  When she was finally able open her eyes, she saw Drew braced over her, grimacing and gasping. He shuddered and pressed against her as if he wanted to disappear inside her. A low groan escaped him in pieces. Then he began to pant. He lowered himself to his elbows and buried his face in her neck.

  Eryn lifted arms that had recently doubled their weight and draped them over his back. She felt another scar and wondered that the man still lived. Thank You, God. It was the only thought she could form.

  It might have been minutes, or it might have been days, but at some point Drew rolled away from her. He turned to her and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  “I feel the same way,” she whispered.

  He gave her a small smile, and then clambered from the bed. Eryn watched as he moved around the end of the bed toward the fire. He moved like the London lion had, graceful and strong. He was magnificent clothed, but naked there were not words she could conjure to adequately describe his glory.

  He removed the sheath and dropped it into the flames. It hissed and released a musky cloud of steam.

  “I thought…” She stopped, unwilling to appear ignorant at this particular moment.

  He turned to her. “Thought what?”

  She glanced away and gathered enough courage to meet his curious gaze. “I thought maybe it was something that could be washed and used again.”

  Drew’s head swiveled to the fire. “They can be. I just did no’ think that—that I would need it again.”

  Unanticipated disappointment dampened Eryn’s sensual mood. “Can you make another?”

  Drew stared at her. His eyes traveled the length of her, lying naked on her side in the tangled sheets, waiting for his answer. She laid back to give him a better view, not knowing how she knew to do that, but pleased to see the resultant hunger in his gaze.

  “Aye. I can.”

  She smiled at him and patted the mattress.

    

  Drew carried a drowsy Eryn across the dark passageway to her own bed. As much as she felt her organs rending at the separation, she knew she mustn’t be found in his bed. She kissed him several times before she let him go.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “For all of it.”

  “Rest assured, Eryn, it was my greatest pleasure,” he murmured back. Then the door clicked shut and he was gone.

  Eryn rolled onto her belly and buried herself in her cold sheets and blankets. Curled into a ball for warmth, she replayed the night’s activities in her mind, determined to burn them into her memory forever.

  Especially the second time.

  The making of the sheath was fascinating. After finishing the wine and resting for a while, entangled amongst the bedclothes, Drew gathered his knife, a length of boiled sheep’s intestine, and thread. He cut off a piece of the intestine and tied one end tightly with the thread.

  “It mustn’t leak, ye see,” he said. “Do ye wish to test it?”

  Eryn sat beside Drew on the bed, her legs straddling his arse, and watched closely. “How?”

  “Ye blow into it, like this.” He put the open end to his lips and blew until his cheeks puffed out and turned red. “If no air gets out, nothing else will either.”

  “Oh.”

  �
�Do you want to try?”

  She made a face. “No. Thank you, though.”

  Drew laughed. “I imagine ye will want to help me put it on this time, do ye no’?”

  Eryn took the sheath and made Drew lay on his back on the bed. It fit easily over his inert member. “It’s too loose,” she grumbled.

  “What can we do about that?” he teased. “If only I had a desirable woman in my bed, one who could make me stand up like a stallion!”

  Eryn was never one to back down from a challenge. Especially one that made her insides flutter with the understood promise of pleasure. She was proud to recall that, when she finished with him, Drew’s sheath was tight as a drum’s head.

    

  Drew forgot how well he slept after sex.

  Shite, he had almost forgotten sex.

  He pulled a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stretched, reaching for all four corners of the bed. By the light glowing through the window, he knew it was already late morning. He had a dream-like recollection of Ian bringing food, and hoped he was not too rude when he sent the man away. Eryn had been out of his bed only a few hours, and Drew was deep in satiated repose.

  Eryn.

  She was perfect. And perfect for him.

  Drew was a big man but he had never realized how well a tall woman would fit him. It was so obvious now. He didn’t have to worry about crushing her. He didn’t have to bend in half to kiss her breasts. Or to plunder her mouth while he was inside her. He hardened thinking about it. About her.

  Her hair looked like spun gold in the firelight and hung over her shoulders, a gossamer cape. Her pale eyes were nearly colorless, dilated with fear at the first. Then he lifted away her gown, and revealed her modest bosom, narrow waist, and smoothly rounded arse.

  Perfect.

  Drew threw the covers back and rolled from the bed. He wanted to see her again and as soon as possible. He thought it might be too much to hope for, but he wondered if she might want to bed him again afore he left. He certainly hoped so.