Oh, he was the best, no question about it. He left the lasses begging for his attention. The legend of the Hawk grew. Then one day, a woman whom Hawk had spurned repeatedly—Olivia Dumont—petitioned King James for his favors as if he were a piece of property to be granted.
And like royal property, James had granted him, wielding the same threat of harm to Dalkeith should he disobey.
How James had loved that—especially when he realized how much the Hawk had been humiliated by it. And so the king had said, you will be whoever We want you to be, even if it's a thing so trivial as Our whore, to please Our favored ladies. Other men were sent to battle. The Hawk was sent to bed with Olivia. Doubly humiliating.
Many men had envied the Hawk—the lover of so many beautiful women. Still more men had hated the Hawk for his prowess and virility, and for the legends the ladies wove about him.
Eventually, James had grown tired of hearing the legends. Sick of his ladies clamoring about the beautiful man, James had sent the Hawk abroad on absurd and risky missions. To steal a crown jewel from Persia. To beguile a priceless objet d'art from an old heiress in Rome. Whatever odd treasure the greedy James had heard of, the Hawk was sent to acquire by fair means or foul. The king's whore had been simply that: a man who did the king's "dirty work," whatsoever his fickle liege wished at the time.
Now his eyes returned to the lass standing in silence before him.
She was so different from any he'd ever known. From the first day he'd seen her, he'd recognized that she was truly without artifice or coy subterfuge. Although she might have hidden depths, they were neither malicious nor self-serving but had been born of suffering and loneliness, not of deceit. He'd recognized that she had a pure heart, as pure and real and full of possibility as his Gypsy fields had been, and that it had already been given to a man who was undeserving! To the epitome of deceit and strange artifice. To Adam Black.
By hook or crook or whatever fashion was necessary, he would woo and win her. He would make her see the error of her ways—that she'd given her heart to the wrong man.
She was seeled both from him and to him, until she learned to see again with that pure heart which had recoiled into hiding. He would wake it, shake it up, and force it to come out and face the world again. And when she'd learned to see him for what he really was, then she could see him with her eyes again.
Adrienne stood stock-still and uncertain. It was strange, knowing he was in the room but not knowing where or what he was doing. He could be standing in front of her even now, his body nude and glistening in the oil lights. She imagined him lit by the soft glow of candles. She loved the fires and torcheres of this century. What kind of romance could live and breathe beneath fluorescent lights of her own time?
She regretted the hood as it deprived her of seeing him, but decided that was for the best. If she could see him, that meant he could see her eyes, and they would surely betray her fascination, if not her willingness.
She felt the whisper of a breeze. Was he to her left? No, her right.
"The first time is for erasing all your memories of another man."
He was circling round her. Her heart thundered. With any other man, being unable to see would have felt threatening, but not with the Hawk. For despite his fury, he had proven himself to be honorable to the core. She knew that although he'd seeled her, he had done so in an attempt to win her love and trust—not to dominate or subdue her. There was nothing threatening in the fact that he'd closed her eyes to him; he'd opened her heart with his silken hood. Her lack of vision heightened all her other senses to an exquisite state.
When his hand caressed the column of her neck, she swallowed a sigh of pleasure.
Hawk continued circling her; to her side, then to her back, and, in what seemed like an eternity later, around to her front. Her ears strained for clues, her body vibrated with tension, wondering, waiting.
"The second time will be for teaching. Teaching you how it feels to be loved by a man such as me. 'Tis a thing you'll never forget."
His breath fanned the nape of her neck, his fingers picked up a fall of her hair. She could hear only ragged breathing—his or hers, she wasn't certain. She stiffened at the brush of his hand against the curve of her hip, feeling a wild jolt of electricity charge through her body.
"The third time will be for the jessing and leashing. I promise you that time will be the end of your resistance."
He trailed his fingers down her neck, across her breasts from nipple to nipple, then down over her taut stomach. His light caress feathered between her legs and was gone, leaving behind an aching hunger.
"But the fourth time, ah, the fourth time when I hear your sweet cries, that one's for me, lass. For the waiting and the hunger and the agony of wanting you. Just for me."
His hands were on her shoulders, sliding the silk of the gown over her skin. Undoing tiny pearl buttons at the nape of her neck one by one with something that felt like… teeth? Oh! His tongue flickered against the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck then moved lower still.
Oh dear heavens but this sensuous stroke of his tongue could be her complete undoing. The rough velvet of his tongue traced its way all the way down her spine, then lower still. She trembled.
Her knees weak, she swayed in silence. Can't make a sound, she reminded herself. Not a good sound, anyway. Only protests.
Just when she was certain she couldn't maintain her silence a second longer, he stepped back, and she felt a slow breeze in his wake. She turned, attempting to track him in the silence.
The back of her gown was open, her skin damp from his kisses. She waited in mute anticipation. Where was he?
There, she thought as she suddenly felt him grasp the fabric of her dress. He tugged her gown and it fell to the floor in a rustle of silk. The chemise fell next, and then there was nothing but stockings, lace stays, and slippers.
Hawk was grateful she was seeled, that she couldn't see the tremor in his hands as he slid to his knees and removed one stocking slowly, rolling it down inch by inch as he knelt before her. He trailed reverent kisses down her long, silky leg. From her supple thigh to the back of her knee to her trim ankle, he lavished her legs, first one, then the other, with hot kisses, making certain he didn't miss one delectable inch of the creamy flesh he'd been dying to taste.
She made not a whimper, but he understood her game. Hating him as she did, she would surely not utter one sound of pleasure unless he could rip it from her throat. And to do that he must keep a clear head. He must not lose control and start thinking about those shimmering curls at the sweet juncture of her thighs, only inches from his mouth, or the silken nub that nestled within, the very center of her passion. From his position at her feet he reveled in every plane and curve of her perfect body. His eyes skimmed over her firm thighs, up her taut, slightly rounded belly, over her creamy breasts to the alabaster column of her neck where it met the black silk hood.
Adrienne knew that if something didn't happen fast, her legs were going to simply buckle beneath her and she would fall on his face. Not a bad idea, her mind offered. She was shocked. Aghast. But maybe…
She swayed forward slightly.
Hawk groaned as her shimmering curls brushed his unshaven cheek. Kneeling at her feet, he squeezed his eyes shut to banish the vision, the need, unaware that his tongue wet his lip and his mouth demanded…
Shaking, he growled and surged to his feet, and then his hands were on her body and he knew he was in serious trouble. Where the hell had the Hawk gone? he wondered as he tumbled her roughly back to the bed. Where was the Lothario? That legendary master of control who was going to tease her beyond endurance and shatter her defenses? Just where the hell had his will gone? What will? he wondered, for he was lost in a green field of innocence more sweet and lush than any he'd ever known.
Adrienne moaned when his body covered hers, pressing her down into the soft bed. He was every inch a hot, demanding man. Oh, heavenly, the woman within her purred. Take me, she wan
ted to cry. But not that easily, she wouldn't give in too quickly.
In a swift motion the Hawk ripped the hood off her head and kissed her, burying his hands in her hair. He kissed her so deeply that she lost her breath and the last remnants of her fear.
She'd kissed a few men before. More than a few. Timid kisses, passionate kisses. Eberhard kisses that had left her cold. A man didn't kiss like this unless he was very deeply in love.
He loved her. The awareness trembled in her, just under the top layer of her skin, then seeped deeper, penetrating fully. How magnificent, to know he loved her so much. No question about it. He was cradling her face with his strong hands as if she were the most precious thing in the universe. She opened her eyes and met his troubled gaze, trying to say with her silvery silence all that she really felt, because she couldn't say the words. She didn't know how. No practice.
When he shifted her beneath him and his hard arousal rode between her legs she did it, made all that sound she'd sworn she wasn't going to. Practically roared. So this was it. This was what made people crazy with passion and longing and hunger. This was what Shakespeare had known at some time in his life to write Romeo and Juliet, to pen such sweet verses of love. This is what the Hawk had meant by Valhalla.
She arched up against him, the muscles deep within her on fire, burning for something, aching and empty.
"Ari," he breathed as he dropped his head to suckle one nipple into his mouth. He kissed and tugged and tortured it. He released the tightened crest and blew cool air on the heated tip. Nipped it lightly, then rubbed his rough, shadow beard gently across it. A flash of fire erupted in her, radiating outward from her breasts and flooding her entire body with waves of desire.
He scattered kisses lower, trailing across her stomach, the curve of her hips, her thighs. When he paused directly above her honeyed heat, his mere breath fanning her sensitive skin was sheer torture.
A heartbeat turned into a dozen, and she waited, frozen, for his next caress.
When it came, she whimpered softly. He dropped kisses on the satiny insides of her legs, then tasted the very center of her hunger. When his tongue flickered out, stroking her tiny, taut nub repeatedly, she cried out and her body quivered against him. She felt herself reaching, soaring for something just beyond her reach and then… oh!
How was it that she'd never experienced anything like this before? The Hawk flung her to the starlit heavens and spun her out between the planets, slid her down the Milky Way and through a star going supernova. Rocked her universe from end to end of its solar system. And when he finally, gently let her come back down, she shuddered beneath him with agony and ecstasy, knowing she would never be the same. Something had woken up inside her and blinked pale eyes, unaccustomed to the blinding brightness and stunning intensity of this new world.
She lay, panting and a little bit frightened, but ready. Ready to truly and completely give herself to her husband and make their marriage soar as she knew it could. Ready to try to begin to tell him the things she felt for him. How much she really admired his sensitivity and compassion. How much she adored his strength and fearlessness. How much she even cherished his brash and passionate rages. How glad she was to be his wife. "Hawk—
"Ari, Ari… I… no. I don't…" His face was fierce and wild, and she reached for him. But she missed.
Because the Hawk stiffened with a roar of agony and leapt from the bed. Leapt from her, and practically ran from the room without looking back.
The room fell silent except for the click of a lock.
Adrienne stared in total confusion at the door.
This was like being bedded in roses and waking up in the mud.
How could he just up and leave her after that?
throbbing shaft would not be able to handle that torture again.
But he didn't want to give her his seed until he knew she belonged to him. Didn't want the possibility of not knowing whose child she might bear.
And then he recalled the flask that the old Rom had given him. He considered it thoughtfully, wondering if now was the time to use the potion it contained.
He may as well, he mused, although he hated the side effects. The way it would leave him cold and remote in the middle of the greatest passion he'd ever known.
* * * * *
The next time he came to her was in silence, from beginning to end.
A scarce quarter of an hour before, he'd grimaced as he'd pulled out the stopper with his teeth. He had sworn never to take the potion again, but this time it was necessary. He had to make her want him, to bind her to him with desire so he could start working on making her love him. And he needed a clear head to do it.
Last night he'd almost made a fool of himself. He'd certainly lost control. Come close to spilling on her with both body and heart; foolish words of love and seed and hope for babies and a lifetime together.
So he tossed his head back and swallowed the bottle's bitter contents, and waited.
When he could feel its eerie fingers unfurling through his body, only then did he go to her.
He stripped her bare and guided her to the floor. She made no move to stop him; she remained mute, with an unfathomable expression in her eyes. It was mute fascination, but he didn't know that. Her eyes lovingly wandered over
* * *
CHAPTER 26
sidheach james lyon douglas does not shake, he reminded himself. Does not lose control. Does not almost start mooning about like some lovesick boy just because he gives a lass the orgasm of her life. He hadn't missed that.
But it wasn't the orgasm. Not even the way she'd shuddered against him, or how beautiful she'd looked as she'd panted, love-slicked, beneath his tongue.
It was that he'd been about to do something he'd never done in all his life—lose his seed outside of a lass. That and more, it was that he loved her and she still hadn't said his name. Not even in the apex of her passion had she cried his name. Nothing. For all he knew, she could have been thinking of Adam. It was part of why he'd had to pull the damned hood off her. The hood had seemed a good idea at the start, but it just had to go.
The next time he loved her, he'd have her eyes open and seeing him from start to finish, and finish it he would. His every inch of his body when he looked anywhere besides her face. She marveled at the sensation of cool floor to her back and hot man to her front, but he seemed somehow different this time as with his hands and his mouth he brought her to that shining place in the sky not once but a half-dozen times. Perfectly skilled, almost frighteningly controlled, while she lay aching beneath him.
She didn't like it one bit.
When he turned away from her, she felt somehow cheated. As if he hadn't really been there with her at all. So what if he pleasured her well? She wanted the same sun glowing in his eyes, the same uncontrollable, wild passion that burned white-hot between them.
"Hawk!" she called to his back.
He stiffened and paused a long moment. Muscles bunched in his shoulders and back. He seemed so untouchable.
"Oh. Never mind…" she said softly, her eyes luminous and brimming with hurt.
* * * * *
Hours later the Hawk rinsed his mouth for the fifth time and spat into a basin. Well, that had been a disaster of epic proportions. It had hurt him more than it had helped him. The potion had kept up his enormous erection and not allowed him to spill anything.
Was there such a thing as a fire that froze?
He would never take that potion again. Not with his wife.
When he'd finally gotten the foul taste of it out of his mouth, he dressed and headed for the village gathering hall to hear more cases. More decisions and more people with needs he must see to. And all the while he knew he'd be wondering if he, who ruled numerous manors, villages, keeps, and men, was ever going to be able simply to make his own wife say his name.
Sidheach.
That's all he wanted.
* * * * *
Adrienne paced the room restlessly. What had happen
ed this afternoon? She felt dirty, as if she'd been touched too intimately by a stranger, not been made love to by her husband. Not like the night before when she'd seen that look in his eyes, that warmth and tenderness along with the epic desire. He'd been detached somehow this afternoon. When he'd returned to their room to dress before he'd left again, he'd still been eerily distant. Had he done something, taken some drug to make him…?
Those flasks she'd seen. Lying in a leather pouch on the bed table last night.
Her jaw jutted as she stomped to the bed table. Not there.
Where had he put them? Her eyes flew to the clothes he'd dropped in the chair when he'd changed this afternoon. Rummaging through the pile, she found what she sought and dumped the little leather pouch. One empty, a full one left. Ha! That and the healing poultice he'd been using when he changed the bandage on his hand.
An empty flask. Hmmph! Well two could play that game, and he'd rue the day he left the other one just lying about. Wait until he saw just how cold she could be!
* * * * *
When the Hawk returned to the manor that night, he was unequivocally convinced he must have gone to the wrong house. His wife was waiting for him in the locked bedroom, completely nude, with a wild look in her eyes that made him quite certain he was dreaming, or lost or mad.
"Hawk," she purred as she glided to him.
"Adrienne?" he asked warily.
His wife was so damned beautiful. And for an instant he didn't care why she was acting this way. He was sick of the waiting and tired of the wanting. So he swung her up into his arms and kissed her, his hot mouth moving over hers hungrily.
Then he saw the flask lying on the floor by the bed, looking as if it had been dropped shortly after consumption.
Hawk blew out a breath of frustration and allowed himself one more longing look at his wife's flushed cheeks, her magnificent breasts, and curves that went on forever. One glance at her darkly dilated eyes and her poury mouth, plum-ripe and begging to be kissed.
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