Unbidden (The Evolution Series)

by Jill Hughey

  They did not see her push herself to her feet. She did not want to be caught lurking in shadows, so she announced her presence. “I am here,” she said simply as she walked forward into the light of the torch by the front door.

  David stopped and met her eyes. He seemed subdued. “Why are you out here?”

  “I am very glad that you won, but I did not feel very celebratory. Nor very welcome at the party.”

  They stared at one another until Theo broke the strained silence. “It is bad enough that they hold a party without me. Have my guests been rude to you?”

  Rochelle laughed without humor. “I not only hired Riculf, apparently I told The Black to bash my betrothed’s brains out. None want their darling daughters near me, in case my particular strain of stupidity is catching.”

  David had the courtesy to look pained as Theo first glared at him then stalked to the door. “We will see about that.”

  “No,” Rochelle protested over her shoulder. “Leave them. I do not care what they think. I can hardly stand my own company of late. I certainly do not want theirs.”

  “Theo,” David said quietly. “Tell Marian I am taking her daughter for a walk.”

  Rochelle slowly turned her head back toward him. She would certainly follow him to the end of the earth and beyond but still had to bite her tongue against several questions coming immediately to mind, choosing the one most pertinent to his safety. “Where is Doeg?”

  David replied easily, “He left for home. The crush of people no longer suits him, either. Theo, I will expect to see you later.”

  Plans to rejoin his friend could not bode well regarding his plans for her. Theo opened the door, letting the sounds and light of the boisterous party out onto the street for a brief moment before shutting it away again. Just like her brief interlude of love, here then gone, closed off by a heavy door she would never be able to open. Rochelle sighed, overwhelmed by the exhaustion of her defeat.

  David shifted uncomfortably. “Theo tells me I owe you an apology,” he said, the suggestion of a flush rising to his neck.

  “Apology?” Rochelle, so immersed in her own misery, had no idea what he could be talking about.

  “He tells me I struck out at you and sent you sprawling,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “after you had leapt across the emperor and a fence to come to my aid.”

  “Oh that, yes, well, that was nothing compared to….” She waved vaguely with her hand, hoping to indicate everything he had suffered today.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked bluntly, his eyes boring into hers with an uncomfortable intensity.

  She unconsciously lifted her hand to her breastbone. His gaze followed. The bruise was tender but hadn’t given her a moment’s worry tonight. “I am fine, though I am glad you had already stuck your semi-spata in The Black.”

  He paled. “You are certain you are not damaged? I am not in the habit of striking women. It was —”

  She stepped forward to reassure him, even now when he was about to remove every hope of happiness from her future. “You were not yourself for just a few seconds. There was no harm done.”

  His hands flexed and he shifted his feet in the dirt. She could not read his eyes. “Let us walk,” he finally suggested.

  Dread and excitement bubbled up in her stomach. He hadn’t discarded her outright. Her own tournament, her own battle for their future perhaps still lay before her. Rochelle breathed deeply, trying to calm herself as they walked down the street at his usual brisk pace. Sounds of distant revelry echoed through the town.

  “How is your head?” she ventured hesitantly.

  He reached up to prod his forehead with his fingertips. “Not bad. I have had two doses of your potion. It is holding the worst at bay.” After another moment of awkward silence, he added gruffly, “It was very thoughtful of you to bring it to the field.”

  The unexpected kindness was too much. “I did not tell The Black anything,” she blurted. “I would never betray your injury to an adversary.”

  David lifted a hand to silence her. “I know. Both Theo and Louis have their own idea about who did. I do not agree with them. I also do not believe it was you. After all, it was not Riculf going after my head.” He glanced at her, as if realizing he had just put salt on the wound of her guilt.

  She blinked hard against the wetness in her eyes. She strode beside him, his pace still rapid enough to suggest a purposeful destination. “Still, my part was bad enough. Witnessing the result of it was the worst punishment. Seeing you in danger, bleeding…it was too much. I hated it.” She paused with a shaky sigh. “I hate myself.”

  David only grunted noncommittally.

  They walked for a few minutes, until he asked, “Are you not going to ask me about my meeting with the emperor?”

  “I am not sure I should.”

  “Hmm. Well, it was very interesting. He was full of all manner of bad advice.” His hand unexpectedly twined with hers. She kept her eyes forward as hope rose a little higher.

  “What kind of advice?”

  “You have redeemed yourself a bit in his eyes, but he still thinks I should break the betrothal.”

  They climbed the gentle rise toward the church. The combination of exercise and nerves made her breathless.

  “You certainly lack your usual curiosity tonight.” He looked down at her with a wry smile. “Are you too full of guilt and self-loathing to ask the question?”

  “As long as I do not make you say the words, there is still a possibility.”

  He finally stopped to face her in front of the church. “A possibility of what?” He lifted his hand to the side of her face, his eyes suddenly burning into hers.

  She couldn’t look away. She swallowed the dread in her throat. “That you will give me another chance. Once you say you have broken the betrothal, there is no chance. You cannot expect me to be in a hurry to hear those words.”

  His thumb rubbed over her cheek. “And if I say I will give you another chance?”

  Her free hand rose toward his chest then dropped again. She was afraid to touch him, afraid to believe. “If you give me a chance,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his, “I promise I will not betray you again. I will be a good wife. Oh, I have fallen so in love with you.” She sighed, turning her lips to his palm, dread and fear falling away. This was David, her David, his rough palm cradling her face. Whatever intimacy he allowed her tonight, be it words or touch, she would take it.

  Her warm kiss sent sparks down his arm. The quiet pledge, the gentle sign of affection was all it took to bring the banked fire of his love for her, of his desire, to a full roar.

  He brought his lips to hers savagely. All the frustration of the last month, all the possessive feelings he’d felt in battle today, came surging forth. None would have her except him. No more terms. No more denials.

  He kissed her breathless, until she whimpered against him, her hands tangled in his cloak as he held her tight against his chest. He began to move backward, forcing her to keep pace with him, straining to keep her lips joined with his. He pulled away when they reached the steps to the church, slipping his arm around her waist so they could climb, step by step, side by side.

  He opened the door, the distinct “snick” of the latch echoing around the empty basilica. A few hanging oil lamps glowed down the center, casting just enough light for an errant worshiper to find his way to the altar. David hadn’t come here to worship God. A moment later, the object of his devotion stood in the soft glow.

  “This is the church,” she said nonsensically, backing away from him until her back hit a massive stone pillar. He followed to plunder her lips again. “Is it a sin to kiss in here?” she sighed as she ran her fingers through his hair.

  “Not tonight,” he replied, then silenced her with his mouth, his tongue tasting her lips. He reached up to lift the veil from her head, his breath catching as her thick mahogany hair shone in the soft lamplight. “Take it down,” he ordered, watching as her shaking fingers found the
golden pins and placed them in the veil still in his hands. She shoved her fingers through the locks, emboldened by the yearning flame in his eyes. He crumpled the veil with the pins within and tossed it on a bench, then raked his own hands through her hair until the mahogany mass flowed down her back. “Beautiful,” he said, in awe. “I wish to see your hair every time we are alone.” He rained more kisses on her face before bending to nuzzle at her neck. “How could you ever think I would part with you?”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “I could not believe you would ever forgive me.”

  He slipped his lips to her ear. “I forgive you. I want you. I love you beyond all reason.”

  He was stating his claim on her, his intentions toward her, and finally, Rochelle could accept it. Joy pealed within her as she tightened her hold on him, safe again in the circle of his arms, her cheek against the firm plane of his chest. “I am so happy,” was all she could choke out, her knees nearly collapsing when he lifted her chin to smile down into her face, his expression so open and ardent it stole her breath.

  She went up on tiptoe to kiss him softly. She had never felt so female. Desire pooled in her belly, and she could feel the proof of his own arousal pressing against her. She wanted him, and reached for another kiss, this time twining her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. He accommodated her as he loosened the clasp on her cloak, letting it pile on the floor around the pillar. His hands moved heavily over her torso, wanting to touch every part of her at once. She arched slightly, offering. He took, sliding a hand to her breast, testing, relearning the feel of her under his hands. It was not nearly enough. He found the laces of her tunic to loosen them and push it off her shoulders, gently tracing her collarbone with one finger. She could not stop a sharp intake of breath at the skin-to-skin contact.

  She tugged at the immense clasp of his cloak. “Help,” she whispered, desperate to touch him as well. He kissed her neck and shoulders as he dropped it to the floor for her. Her hands swiftly passed over the wool layers covering his arms and chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles, the small flexes that belied the power held within.

  He growled in his throat, moving in closer, trapping her against the pillar, hips to her belly, his thigh nudging between hers. His hands became more reckless, sliding up her waist to cup both her breasts possessively. She pressed against him, remembering the stables, finding the slight pressure at her crotch utterly intriguing.

  “God in heaven,” he breathed, bracing his forearm above her head. “We had better slow down.”

  She sagged against the stone, her eyes limpid and her lips well kissed. Her tunic drooped deliciously to one side and just the tiniest bit more of unlacing would show him those perfect breasts he had still only fondled through several layers of cloth.

  “A bit more,” he groaned as he quickly bared the top half of her body, tugging at her sleeves with urgency. Her girdle trapped her garments at her waist. He pulled back to survey his new domain, immediately stiffening in her arms. An expression of pain twisted his face.

  “What is it?” she whispered, afraid she repulsed him in some way.

  He traced his fingers ever so gently over the bruise centered on her breastbone. “Did I do this?” he asked, horrified.

  She grabbed his hand, pulling it to her mouth.

  “I am sorry, Rochelle. I am so sorry,” he breathed, replacing his hand with his mouth to kiss her deeply before leaning back to study her body again. Her breasts were compact but beautifully rounded, the nipples already pert with her desire. He weighed them in his scabbed hands so gently, and she watched him touch her then brought her own fingers up to cover his, her face filled with soft wonderment at seeing her body thus caressed, their hands twined on her pale skin.

  “You,” she breathed, as she moved her hands to push ineffectually at his tunic.

  “Rochelle,” he warned, but he showed her the lacings of his tunic and undergarment. She spread the halves of cloth wide, thrusting her hands beneath to rub across his chest. When her fingers bumped the bandage at his shoulder, her brows knit. Nothing could have prepared him for the feel of her lips on his bare skin as she now whispered her own repeated apologies against the smooth heat of his chest. She still straddled his thigh, and the way she rocked against it set his blood boiling.

  “Rochelle, we should stop.”

  She shook her head vehemently, her breath hot against his injured shoulder. “No, something else will happen. I do not want to stop. I do not want to miss my chance this time.”

  To hell with it, he thought. He wanted to see all of her and claim her in some way. To put his mark on her, a stamp of pleasure and fulfillment she could never forget. He had no intention of denying his own needs for long, but clearly this was not the right place for the consummation of a marriage. The ceremony, perhaps, but not the consummation.

  She clung to him, opening his tunic wider and wider, her fingers sliding over his ribs, her breasts now flattened against his chest as she invited him for another kiss. He couldn’t stop his hands from moving down the slender line of her back to grasp her rounded bottom. He pulled her up higher on his leg so that her thigh pressed against his sex. They moaned into one another’s mouths.

  To hell with it, he thought again. He hated the clothing covering her hips and legs. He wanted to see and touch every bit of her skin. Perhaps he had time for that, and to give her her release. He’d save his own fulfillment for later. If he could restrain himself.

  But they needed more privacy. Even in his fevered state he knew he couldn’t lay her out in the aisle of a basilica. He glanced around the church. What he wouldn’t pay for a gallery such as in the palatine chapel in Aix-la-Chapelle. There was nowhere private in this church, only dark shadowy places. He decided on the darkest one.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  He bent down to collect their clothing, then he lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the small altar room to the right of the main altar. This area was almost completely dark, with the weak rays of light from the oil lamps making the two lovers barely visible to each other.

  He set her gently on her feet then laid their cloaks out on the stone floor, the soft fur of his on top. When he knelt down and raised his hand to her, she came on her knees before him without trepidation. He kissed her again, caressing her until she leaned against him, senseless. She pulled his tunic and undertunic off, rubbing against him, skin to skin. They sighed together at the intimate contact, breaths mingling.

  He slipped his arms around her to lay her gently on her back. He unclasped the heavy girdle still slung around her hips, setting it aside with a metallic clang. She lifted her bottom to help him slide her clothing off. Woolen hose were all that remained, and he took his time rolling it down each long, leanly muscled leg.

  He sat back on his heels to look at her, finally bare, the skin of her body pearly in the feeble light of the distant lamps. Perfection. He wasn’t sure he would ever breath properly again.

  His hand found her calf, and not too gently. He gripped it, his eyes meeting hers. The green glinted back at him without fear or nervousness, her own fingers distractedly combing the silky fur of his cloak. He let his hand slide up the back of her leg, watching, fascinated as her neck slowly arched the closer he ventured toward her sex. Her legs hesitantly parted as he found the slickness there and began to caress. The scent of her reached his nostrils, nearly ending all thought, nearly ending the gentle introduction to a woman’s pleasure he hoped to provide.

  He wanted her with a desire past any recognition. And she lay here before him, open, whimpering, beginning to move against his fingers. Her hand reached for him, beckoning him closer to her. He laid beside her, concentrating on a kiss, just a kiss, as his touch drove her to madness. Her arm wrapped around him, one hand fanned over his back, and the other splayed across his chest.

  He continued to touch her in a way that drove her thighs apart, her hips lifting in a primeval rhythm.

  “More,” she begged. He pressed o
ne finger inside her, eliciting a deep guttural moan. His erection became nearly painful as he felt the wet tightness of her passage, imagining himself clamped within. Still she strained, pushing against his hand. He gave her the width of two fingers, causing her to lift her hips off the cloak. Her head soon tossed from side to side in frustration.

  “You said we would be together,” she whispered breathlessly.

  He tried. God knew he tried to bring her release without the final act. But she looked up at him, her eyes glazed with desire, yet confused, as if she knew he could give her what she wanted. He wasn’t sure she even understood what she was asking of him as she clung to his shoulder, her face hidden in his neck, her hips pressing up again and again. “David,” she whispered, pleading.

  “Sweetling, not here. We cannot.”

  “You said it was right for us. Even in the stable.” She pulled back from him and he watched the desire recede, pushed away by memories and reason. “I have ruined it. You did not want me at the river and you do not want me now.”

  He brushed the hair from her face. “Where do you get such ridiculous ideas?”

  “You said that after the tournament there would be no boundaries, but there are! I have ruined everything.” She tried to sit up, to escape from the shame of it all. He caught her shoulders.

  “Fire and smoke, woman, do you remember every word I have ever said?”

  “Yes,” she whispered pitifully. “What else have I had to do for the past week but go over every conversation and every kiss, wishing I could have done it all differently.” She reached up to touch the bandage on his shoulder. “Been better. More careful.”