They came to a tiny one-room dwelling with a sagging thatched roof. The man gave Alayna a rough shove through the doorway. The place was filthy, overrun with cobwebs and dust, bare of any furnishings. It was, however, dry.
Once inside, he stripped off his sodden cloak. He did not speak, but watched her carefully as he heaped together some dry logs that had been set by the fireplace long ago. Alayna stood shivering in the middle of the room. She dared not move. The weight of her clothes, the chill of the wetness seeping into her flesh, her pure fatigue all went unfelt.
She was like a doe poised for flight as she watched the stranger go about his work. A cold dread crept into her veins, for she saw that he watched her covertly and there was undisguised lust in his eyes.
When at last the fire was lit, he undressed further, stripping off his overtunic and leaving only his coarse undershirt and leggings. He looked at her and smiled again in that hideous way he had. It was meant to be reassuring, but it set her blood curdling in her veins.
“Come sit by the fire, Lady Alayna,” he said. He tried to sound polite, but his voice was simpering. She obeyed, knowing she had no choice but to wait for her chance.
“Take off your cloak to let the warmth in. Here, we will dry it on this peg.”
She remained still and silent as he covetously took her cloak from her and hung it up.
“He did not lie when he said you were a beauty,” he said conversationally as he sat down again at the fire.
“What is your name?” Alayna asked, ignoring the compliment.
“Call me John.”
“John, who are you talking about when you say ‘he’?”
John smirked. “You’ll see. He likes to make his introductions himself.”
They fell silent for a while, staring into the flames. She was thinking of how to win his trust, maneuver to the door, get a hold of a weapon—anything.
John dug into his pocket, pulling out a pouch of salted beef. He offered some of it to her, but she shook her head. He was biding his time, she could feel it. The tension in him was palpable, alerting her every sense.
Sliding closer, John smiled at her challenging look. “It will be better if we share our warmth.”
Oh, God. Alayna closed her eyes, trying to summon strength or courage or wisdom, something with which to do battle, but all that came to her was numbing panic. She had to keep her wits about her if she had any chance of escape. His voice sounded close to her ear and she cringed. “You are incredibly beautiful. The girl told me you were plain and unpleasant, but I knew her to be mad.”
“Girl?” Alayna’s head snapped around. “Which girl? A servant, named Glenna?”
He nodded. “Aye. She answered my questions. Eager to help. I think my master will find her a useful ally. Her instructions were clear enough. I found you without any trouble.” He looked over at her, his eyes narrowing. “God, you are the loveliest thing I have ever seen.”
Cold, moist fingers closed around her arm. At her whimper, he pulled her roughly to him. Knowing there would be no clever escape, she began to struggle with abandon.
His grip tightened, making her cry out in pain. “Don’t fight me, for he’ll not like it if I mark you.”
His kiss was putrid. Revulsion welled up inside her and she feared she would succumb to the heaving of her stomach. To her horror, she felt his hands grasping at her breast.
She swung at him, kicking and pummeling him with her fists, but he managed her struggles by pressing her back on the dirt floor and covering her with his body. She screamed. When she tried to bite him she was rewarded by a sharp slap that stunned her for a moment.
Her mind flew over the horrible realization of what was happening. What a fool she had been! She was a woman twice wed, yet a virgin. She had rejected her husband, a man whose touch set her blood racing through her veins, and refused a gentle, exciting initiation to be taken by a rough, repulsive brigand in a filthy hut.
She fought with all her strength, but she was no match for a man. He had his leggings untied and was trying to free himself, when suddenly, without warning, he was gone!
Alayna’s eyes flew open in surprise. She had only a momentary glimpse of the man seemingly suspended in the air above her, his mouth open and his eyes round with shock.
Chapter Seventeen
Lucien stood over them, looking like some fabled giant with Alayna’s attacker dangling from one hand. Giving a grunt, he hurled the blackguard against the cottage wall.
Dressed in black, soaked through, looking more blessedly evil than Alayna had ever seen him look, Lucien paused briefly, his eyes locking with hers for an instant before turning back to his foe. In a flash, he had the man by the throat and drew back his fist to bring it crashing down on the man’s face.
John quickly recovered his equilibrium, hurling himself back at Lucien and connecting several heavy blows of his own. Alayna screamed when she saw her kidnapper had drawn blood with a powerful punch to Lucien’s lip. Unfazed, Lucien remained merciless and focused, keeping up a relentless barrage.
In desperation, John drew a knife. Alayna gasped when she saw it, but Lucien’s lip only curled as if he were pleased. She soon saw why, for at John’s first lunge, Lucien deftly deflected the strike and felled the blade from his hand with a quick chopping motion to his wrist. Scooping it up in a flash, he clasped his adversary with one arm and, with a quick forward motion of his arm, he buried the man’s own blade in his belly. Lucien held him thus, ignoring the weak clawing of his victim’s hands as the life slowly seeped out of him. Another jerk, and John crumpled. Lucien supported him to the door, disappearing into the gray curtain of rain with his burden. He was back in a flash, closing the flimsy portal against the rain.
Lucien’s chest heaved as he gulped in great lungfuls of air. His face looked dark and wild, his eyes full of pained worry when he spun to face Alayna.
“Did he harm you? Are you hurt?” he barked.
She could only shake her head, for she was still trembling and unable to speak.
Her mind spun with the dizzy realization that he had come for her and she was miraculously safe. How he had found her in this storm, she did not know. She forgot how much she was supposed to hate him, and felt an overwhelming need to have him hold her.
“I was coming back,” she cried, trying to explain. “I was so afraid, I thought the floodwaters would drown me. It was raining so hard, I could not see. He came from Gastonbury, I thought it was you.”
And then all at once she was where she wanted to be, enfolded in his arms, leaning on his great strength. She clutched him close, burying her face in his shoulder.
“He was touching me. Oh, God, Lucien! All I could think was how I had turned you away, and he was going to take what I never should have denied you.”
“Shush,” Lucien whispered.
She let herself surrender to all of it—the terror, the regret—venting freely with great, wrenching sobs that shook her slender frame to its roots. He soothed her, kissing her hair, stroking it gently as he spoke soft, incoherent words of comfort.
The smell of him, mingled with sweat and rain, was clean and sensuous, his arms strong, and it felt so natural to be there, his velvet voice telling her she was safe. She had never felt safer in her life.
It felt right, it felt instinctive, to turn her face toward his, to let him kiss her brow, to tilt her face upward and let his kiss fall on her eye, her cheek, her lips. It felt only natural to press against his mouth with hers, answering the unspoken question as his passion flared and the kiss deepened with the immediate response of her own ardor.
It was as if the bottom had fallen out of her heart and she was plummeting through leagues of space, soaring and out of control. She cared not a whit for her foolish pride any longer, for within her raged a hunger long denied. She did not wait for him to pull her to him, but molded her body against his, kissing him as fervently as he kissed her.
As his hands went to the fasteners of her clothing, she helped him
shrug off her gown and lift her shift to bare her body to his gaze, his touch, his fire-hot kisses.
Her nerves skittered in anticipation of his intimate touch, those shocking caresses she had fought so hard not to crave. When he gathered her again to him, her hands would not keep still, alternately tangling in his damp hair or sliding voraciously over his body. She felt the rock-hard muscles move and shift under her palms. What madness had it been to deny him? Or was the madness this that consumed her now? She found she no longer cared, for she was marvelously afire, and it felt too wonderful to refuse, not now. If it cost her her last shred of pride, so be it.
Emboldened by her own need, she tugged at his tunic, wanting it off him but not knowing how to pull away the intrusive cloth. He obliged her, quickly doffing the wet garment.
He took her again in his arms, pressing his naked chest to hers. Bending her back over his arm, he cupped her breast and captured the taut nipple in his mouth. She convulsed at the raw sensations that slammed through her as he gently nipped the sensitive peak. A sound, half cry, half moan, came from her as he closed his mouth full over it once more, drawing on it to send her to new heights of frantic, desperate arousal. Urgently she fisted her hands in his hair and pulled him closer, not wanting him to stop.
He straightened, pulling away. Alayna reached for him. “Nay, do not leave me like this, I do want you. I will tell you anything you command of me, anything you demand. But do not stop, not now.”
His expression spoke of the effect of her words. For all of his normal fierceness, he looked as a boy in that unguarded moment. Wordlessly his hands touched her cheeks.
“I could not stop now,” he answered huskily, taking her in his arms once more. “An entire army could not keep me from you. I will make you my wife in truth, Alayna, and nothing will stop us tonight.”
Her insides leaped crazily as he shucked his boots and leggings, then kicked their clothing out around them. Drawing her down, they lay together atop the soft cushion.
“I am sorry about this place. Would that it was the comfort of our own chamber—”
“I care not, Lucien. I do not wish to wait any longer.”
His mouth came down and covered hers, and she answered him. His hands were free to roam, sliding sensuously over her body, testing the feel of her, the languid curve of her hip, the sweet swell of the underside of her breast. She responded to his every touch, writhing under his tender ministrations with an abandon that would have frightened her had she any notion to consider it. But her senses were at his mercy, inflamed to a pitch that was almost beyond endurance.
He covered her body with his. He nipped her lips, kissing her mouth quickly, savagely, before easing himself into her.
“It may hurt, love,” he whispered, and Alayna’s eyes flew open at the endearment. The pain did indeed come, but it was faraway, for she knew only that he had called her his love. He kissed her gently this time, pausing to get her used to the feel of him inside her before starting his rhythm.
Whatever she had expected, it was nothing like this. She had heard that there would be pain, but the fleeting sting of his first thrust had given way to pleasure, then the burgeoning hunger had taken over, filling her mind and body with urgent need. His body pressed down on her, his hands claimed every inch while the gentle breath of his voice at her ear murmured soft, sweet words she had never expected to hear.
Something strange and wonderful began to build inside of her, a sensation like a great wave holding her aloft, making her arch and strain against him for some instinctive, unknown release.
His powerful arms held her in a crushing grip for a moment before his breath evened and he came to rest. Dazed, she clung to him as he rolled from her, bringing her with him so that they lay side by side, facing each other.
He stared at her, a smile curling lazily at the corners of his mouth. He touched her face as if in wonder, making her shiver.
“Are you…all right?”
Alayna nodded, not yet trusting her voice.
“I did not hurt you?” he asked.
Alayna shook her head.
A twinge of the old, haunted look came into his eyes. “Do you regret it?”
She brought her hand up to brush aside a damp strand of hair clinging to his temple. “Nay, I do not.” She paused, then added, “Husband.”
“Nor I,” he murmured, bringing his lips to hers once again. Alayna did not understand his meaning, but gave it no more thought when lost once again in the tender caress of his lips.
His hand slipped between them, gliding over her skin to rest just under her belly. She moaned when his thumb slid over her, finding the sensitive spot his lovemaking had stirred into aching need. His mouth covered hers as his strokes ignited the smoldering coals into exquisite sensation. She could not think a single coherent thought, though somewhere in a remote part of her she knew that she should be shocked at this new intimate touch. She could fathom nothing but the liquid feel of pleasure that ran through her limbs, gathering, tensing until it finally shattered into a million shards of brilliant fulfillment.
There was an acute awareness of everything at once—the feel of his lips, his well-muscled arm that cradled her, his hard body pressed against hers, their legs intertwined. It was a completeness of sensation such as she had never before experienced.
Coming back to herself, she felt stunned and weak. As she curled up to rest contentedly at her husband’s side, he held her tight, kissing her brow while his hand played with a long curl.
“I fear our clothing will be the worse for our trampling,” he commented. Alayna giggled into his shoulder, picturing the ridiculous sight they would surely make donned in the stained and wrinkled garments.
“I fear all will know what we were about,” she whispered.
He chucked her chin up to tilt her face to his. “’Tis about time.”
Alayna lowered her lashes. “Aye,” she admitted.
“Do you play the maiden again with me?”
“’Tis not easy for a woman to accept, being intimate with a man. Men are raised knowing they will be the pursuers, encouraged always to seek the conquest of a woman. Yet women are taught to always deny these feelings and say nay to their suitors. Then, once wed, we are to then submit the very treasure of our maidenhead and allow things that, until the exchange of vows, were shocking and forbidden.”
He considered her for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips. “You are a thoughtful wench, are you not?”
Knowing he was teasing, she let him draw her closer. It felt unbelievably wonderful to be with him like this, more wonderful than any dream of love she had ever known as a girl. His large hand sifted through her hair, grasping her neck to pull her to him to be kissed, a kiss that she responded to with enthusiasm.
Reluctantly he pulled away. There was a troubled look in his eye. “Why did you leave?” he asked.
Alayna stiffened. Very well, she thought, I will put it to him and let him deny it if ’tis untrue. “A young girl claimed to be your leman, and told me that you cared for her. She said you sought to make peace with me only to help your political standing. I—I felt the fool.” “So you left without a word to me?” “I thought you a liar,” she explained. “I left, to think. But I decided to come back when the storm worsened. When I saw John, I—”
“John? Did you know him?” “Nay, ’tis what he told me to call him.” He rolled to lean down over her once again, suddenly impatient with the tale. “It does not matter. He is gone and will not trouble us again. Now, wife, understand this—I will always come for you.”
He kissed her deeply, moving over her again, taking her this time without much preamble, for she was ready and eager and willing. When they lay together again afterward, Lucien reached up to the peg that hung over them and grabbed the cloaks, which had been hung to dry. They were still a bit damp but usable. He wrapped the two of them as they nestled together. They slept, sound and deep, still tight in each other’s embrace.
Chapter Eighte
en
Alayna woke to find herself alone.
She sat up quickly. The fire burned low, casting long shadows in the darkened room. Still groggy, she tried to piece together where Lucien could have gone.
The flimsy door swung open and he entered carrying a huge armload of wood. He was dressed in his cloak, with only his leggings and boots underneath. He gave her a warm perusal before crossing to the fireplace to dump the logs beside the small hearth.
He hung up his cloak and stoked the fire to life before coming to sit next to her. He toyed with a lock of her hair. “I found some dry wood under some spruce.”
She shivered. Lucien’s strong fingers moved to her forehead, smoothing away her hair from her brow. His touch was like a flame against her skin.
“Did you rest well?” he inquired.
The ripple of muscle in his shoulder and arm as his hand moved fascinated her. “Aye,” she said in a whisper, shifting her gaze to his face. Some overwhelming need made her own hand rise up and run a finger along the line of his jaw, where the close-cropped beard ran in a thin line from chin to ear. Such a sinister look, she found it heart-stoppingly attractive. His eyes watched her, soft brown now. It was difficult, in these moments, to imagine them steeled to the narrow flints of coal black his anger could make them. His mouth curved sensuously, framed darkly by the mustache and beard. Soft, full lips—she suddenly realized they were lush and sensitive when not pulled tight into a grimace. Aye, he was a fine-looking man.
“What is it you see?”
Alayna caught his eyes, embarrassed at the course of her thoughts. And yet, he had not been shy in expressing his admiration of her, even when it was done grudgingly. She decided to speak honestly.
“I was looking at your face, husband. It is handsome when you are not being stern.”
His grip tightened, and his face looked stricken. She could not imagine what she had said to cause this reaction.
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