Desire's Prize

by M. S. Laurens (Stephanie Laurens)

He met her gaze, his eyes shrouded in shadows. Then he stalked toward her. “Lady, we have been through this before.”

  His words were even—and very, very clipped.

  She clung to her calm. “Nay, lord. Tis not what you think.”

  “Good.”

  He stopped by her side, then he swooped and lifted her.

  “Lord!” She clutched at his shoulders. “What…?” She stared, stunned, as he carried her through the door. His intentions could not have been clearer. Breasts swelling, she fixed him with a fulminating glance. “Is this how you intend to behave once we are wed? Treating me like the veriest scullery maid?”

  Keeping his gaze on the corridor ahead, he shook his head. “Nay—I never carry scullery maids. One catches them by the hand and drags them.”

  She glared. “As you have many times, I suppose?”

  He shot her a warning glance. “Lady, as the saints can bear witness, you are the only woman I have ever had to drag to my bed.”

  “Ah…yes.” She blinked. “Tis a matter I would discuss with you.”

  “Later.”

  Frowning, she looked into his face. “What mean you, ‘later’?”

  Fleetingly, his eyes met hers. “After.”

  She didn’t need to ask after what. She gave vent to an exasperated hiss. “You are the most pigheaded man I know!”

  Again, his eyes touched hers. “Nay—I am not pigheaded. Merely single-minded—tis different.”

  From the corner of her eye, Eloise saw a quick movement. Turning her head, she heard a smothered giggle. Looking forward once more, she realized his long strides were rapidly eating up her margin of safety. “Lord, I must protest the damage you are doing to my dignity.” If she could get him to let her walk, it would take longer—much longer.

  “Nay, if anyone’s dignity is being done damage here, tis mine. Tis as well most are abed, and not about to see this sorry sight.”

  His tone was so disgruntled she couldn’t help but ask, “Which sorry sight?”

  “The sight of me being reduced to fetching my wife-to-be from the chapel to my bed.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You would not have to fetch me at all, if you would only listen.”

  “Nay—my ears will not function ere I relieve my tension. Tas been building all day.”

  She certainly didn’t need to ask which tension. The look she slanted him was wary. “All day?”

  “Longer. In fact, since Hereford.”

  “Hereford?”

  “Aye—when last we dabbled in fantasies.”

  She couldn’t stop herself. “Fantasies?”

  His eyes, golden flames devilishly beckoning, flicked her way. “Tis my turn, I believe.” His tone turned conversational. “You might have noticed the scarlet silk cover on my bed?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ve a need to see you upon it.” Again, his eyes captured hers. “Naked.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Nay. Lord—”

  “Totally naked. Your skin is like ivory—twill look well against the scarlet.”

  She swallowed.

  “Your body will twist and lift, flushed with desire and gilded by the firelight.” His eyes locked with hers. “I would see you writhe. In ecstasy.”

  Her heart was thudding so wildly, she could barely breathe. “Lord,” she gasped. “There is something—”

  She broke off as he strode into the anteroom, affording her a fleeting glimpse of three shocked young faces before they crossed the threshold of his room.

  “Your squires, lord—”

  “Are not yet old enough to think about bedmates.”

  She waited for him to set her down. Instead, he kicked the heavy door shut—and advanced on the bed.

  Frantic, she grabbed his shoulders. “Alaun!”

  He tossed her on the bed.

  She bounced once before his weight pinned her.

  She dragged in what breath she could and opened her lips—he captured them in a searing kiss.

  For two long minutes, she struggled to hold tight to her purpose, sure she needed to warn him that she might not behave as he expected—might not behave rationally. Then all thought was swept away as he caught her up in the tide of his loving.

  He’d kissed her passionately, urgently, demandingly before, yet it had never been like this. His desire was a hot flame that scorched; for one wavering instant, she thought she might retreat before the intensity of the blaze. Instead, her own desire answered his, surging through her until she sighed into his mouth. Pulling her arms free, she twined them about his neck. Wantonly, she arched against him, explicitly inviting his conquest.

  He needed no further direction. He lifted onto his elbows to finish unlacing her gown, then dealt with the ribbons of her chemise. He laid her breasts bare, then bent his head to do homage.

  Tonight, he wasn’t gentle; his tongue rasped her nipples to instant attention. From beneath heavy lids, he watched as he drew gasp after gasp from her. Experienced, knowing, he set his fingers and tongue to rove her body as he bared it, leaving her mind and her senses reeling.

  She closed her eyes and heard herself moan. Heat flowed through her in waves. Then the comfort of his weight was removed; she felt his hands caress her hips, her bottom, as he drew her clothes down.

  He left her for no more than a moment, then returned. A wave of prickling heat washed over her as his hair-dusted legs tangled with hers. He came down on his side beside her.

  She lifted her lids; her gaze found his face. He was watching his hand trace her curves. His look alone dragged another moan from her. His fingers trailed down her breastbone, then splayed possessively over her taut stomach. She sucked in a breath; heated tension gripped her. She felt the telltale warmth erupt inside, felt the empty ache grow, the ache only he could assuage.

  He knew. His fingers travelled down to slip through her dark curls. She parted her thighs and let her lids fall.

  He was forceful, yet skillful—she saw another side of him that night. Soon, she was writhing, exactly as he must have wished. He wanted, demanded, everything she had to give; she gave gladly, awash in a sea of pure pleasure.

  Propped beside her, Alaun watched her, watched her body lifting, twisting, responding freely to each ardent caress. Her ivory skin glowed with desire; the firelight gilded each smooth curve, shifting as she writhed.

  There could be no sight more beautiful than a lady-witch in wanton abandon.

  The thought pushed his strained control to the limit.

  With a groan, he lowered his head to take her lips again. She met him eagerly, her tongue twining with his. His fingers were buried in her wet softness; he stroked, then probed deeply. She gasped; her nails sank into his shoulders, her hips lifting, searching.

  Drawing away, he moved over her, positioning himself between her thighs, arms braced, holding himself above her so he could still view her.

  Her eyes were closed; she shifted beneath him, arching in entreaty.

  His smile was half-grimace; he lowered his head to brush her lips. “Say my name.”

  Her lids lifted fractionally; her dark eyes gleamed. “Alaun.”

  With controlled force, he thrust into her. Her eyes widened, then her lids sank; he came to rest fully embedded in her tight embrace.

  Then, rising above her once more, he plunged them into the vortex that beckoned.

  He didn’t ask again, yet time and again, she gasped his name, arching wildly as he loved her. Together they soared; together they touched the sun. Then, as one, they slowly fell back to the mortal plane, to the tumbled sheets and the tangled furs, and the warmth of each others’ arms.

  It was eons later, when he’d recovered enough wit to lift his weight from her and settle them both in the warmth of the big bed, that he remembered to ask, “What was it—the so-important subject you needed to discuss?”

  Eloise’s eyes snapped open. She lay curled beside him, her body exhausted, her wits in similar case.

  Blinking, she focused on her s
urroundings. The fire was mere embers, its glow barely enough to pick out their discarded clothes. Weak moonlight shone through the window, allowing her to make out the rumpled sheets and furs, the scarlet silk coverlet thrown roughly over all.

  And in the deep shadows where the moonlight did not penetrate stood the carved bed post; closer, by the side of the undrawn curtains, hung a tasseled cord.

  She screwed her eyes shut.

  But no hideous moans came to disturb her, no piteous shrieks. Not even the maniacal chuckle of her dead husband came to challenge the quiet peace of Montisfryn’s chamber.

  A sigh caught in her throat. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  Somehow, somewhere, the dreadful banshees of her memories had finally been laid to rest—vanquished by her champion.

  She felt him shift. His arms slipped around her and tightened possessively.

  “Well?”

  She rubbed her cheek against one hefty bicep. Shutting her eyes, she felt her lips curve. “I’ve forgotten.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  What staples will the demesne provide before winter?

  A simple enough question, Eloise had thought, yet none within the castle could answer it. So she spent her fourth morning as chatelaine mounted on Jacquenta’s back, finding out.

  As Sir Eward had warned her, the storerooms were close to empty. While with the forests all around and Montisfryn and his knights in residence, the supply of meat was assured, the supply of grain was another matter.

  She rode out with Rovogatti and Matt at her heels. She only had time to visit the nearer fields. Luckily, the workers knew enough of the holdings further down the valley to give her rough estimates of the yields. With careful management, twould likely be enough.

  Reassured, she returned to the castle as the dinner hour drew nigh, riding through the bailey and into the courtyard. Rovogatti lifted her down before the keep steps. She was smoothing her gown when hard fingers gripped her elbow.

  “I would have words with you, lady.”

  She glanced up. Even before her eyes reached Montisfryn’s face, his tone had registered. Then she saw his eyes and the set of his jaw. Something had made him furious. “I am yours to command, lord.”

  He growled and swept her up the steps, striding without pause straight through the hall and up to the solar. As usual, the chamber was empty.

  “What has so provoked you, lord?” she asked, the instant the door shut behind them. Hopefully, he would grasp the opportunity to vent his spleen and take the sting from his ire before he started on the poor unfortunate who had been so unwise as to vex him.

  The tight grip on her elbow disappeared. She swung to face him. And realized who the poor unfortunate was.

  His eyes were steely, his glance sharp as a scimitar. It pinned her as she took an involuntary step back.

  “Did I not extract a promise from you, lady”—he stalked forward as she backed—“that while in my care you would never venture forth without a suitable escort?”

  Eyes wide, she all but gasped, “I took Rovogatti and Matt.” Her hips struck the table, forcing her to halt.

  “Suitable!” He stopped two inches away. “By that I do not mean one man without a sword and a beardless boy!” Hands fisted on his hips, he towered over her; to look into his face she had to bend back.

  “But…” He’d seen her ride in; he didn’t know where she’d been. She smiled placatingly and laid a hand on his chest. “Nay—I only went to the nearer fields of the demesne.”

  There was no appreciable lessening in the turbulent fury that faced her. His eyes were agate-hard, the muscles in his jaw set. Beneath her palm, his chest felt like iron.

  He leaned closer; mesmerized, she felt waves of raw anger lap about her.

  “Lady—I care not where, nor how far, you have ridden. All I see is that you have ventured beyond my gates—without my permission, which, if memory serves, you were required to solicit—and with no suitable protection.”

  His eyes had narrowed; she let hers do the same. “Nay, lord—I was out about my legitimate duties. And I was not for any time beyond the purview of your men on the walls.”

  His rage was on a tight leash; she felt it quiver.

  “That is not acceptable. Henceforth you will take a full escort should you exit the gates.” He swung away, the movement almost violent.

  She grimaced. After a moment, she ventured, “Lord, I like it not having ten men at my back. Tis boredom supreme for them, and highly irritating to me to have my every breath watched over. Given I do not venture beyond the shadow of your walls—”

  A snarl cut her off; he swung around, pinning her once more with his gaze. “Lady, I have told you what will be. Do you think to say me nay?”

  She fought to keep her hands from her hips. “You are being unreasonable.”

  Alaun locked his gaze on hers; his chest rose as he drew in a steadying breath. “You are in my care—you are my responsibility.”

  “Aye—I have not questioned that.”

  “You will do as I say.”

  He watched as she digested that edict, prayed that she would accept it. Her solemn vow to do so was, he was quite certain, the only thing capable of calming the turmoil inside him.

  Slowly, she folded her arms, her gaze narrowed, assessing. “I will do as you ask, provided you give me a sound reason for doing so.”

  He could give her one very good reason, but refused to even consider it. He eyed her menacingly. “You would put conditions on your obedience to your lord?”

  She tilted her chin. “When my lord utters orders that appear quite ludicrous, tis merely sensible to request an explanation.”

  He scowled, then grunted. The unreasoning fear, the same cold terror that had gripped him twice before, was slowly receding. Each time it laid its chill talons on his soul, the effect grew worse; he was shaking inside. Abruptly, he swung away. “We are hard by the Welsh border; raiders sometimes ride close.”

  “Within bowshot of your walls?”

  Smothering a growl, he paced before her. “This area is no different from any other. Occasionally undesirable elements pass through.”

  “Armed undesirable elements?”

  He shot her a malevolent glare. “After your encounter outside Marlborough, I would have thought you would have learned your lesson.”

  “Aye—I have learned not to ride unescorted through forests. But with Rovogatti and Matt with me, only an armed knight or a band of armed serfs could do me harm.”

  “Nay—an escort of two could be shot down easily enough by one man, then would you be defenseless.”

  Eloise lifted her eyes heavenward; raising her hands, palms up, she wordlessly appealed to the saints. “On your land?” She lowered her gaze to his. “With you and your knights constantly riding out, I would own myself surprised had you so much as a single illegally armed serf within three leagues, let alone a band of mercenaries. You’re being ridiculous!”

  He was pacing like a caged lion; now he swung to halt directly before her. Unrepentant, she met his stormy glare.

  For a long moment, they waged a silent war; she could feel the tension that gripped him.

  Then he closed his eyes, his lips compressing to a thin line. “Nay, Eloise—let us not argue.” His voice had deepened. “I have told you what I wish. I would ask that you do this thing”—his lids rose; his eyes, still cloudy, captured hers—“for me.”

  Her eyes searched his; she drew in a deep breath. He hadn’t given her a reason—he was playing chess again, even though the why of it defeated her.

  “Very well.” She frowned. “If it matters so much to you that I take a full escort when I ride outside your gates, so be it.”

  The relief that flooded him—his eyes, his whole frame—was so marked she could scarcely credit it.

  He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss in her palm. “My thanks, lady.”

  She humphed. “Tis nearly time for dinner.”

  “Aye.” He smiled winningly. “I will g
o fetch Lanella.”

  “Twould be helpful.”

  He turned away, then hesitated, her hand still in his. He looked down; his thumb caressed the backs of her fingers, then he lifted his eyes to hers. “I have been meaning to thank you for your help with Lanella.”

  “Nay—she has made me feel more than welcome. She reminds me of my own mother—tis no hardship to do what I can to ease her days.”

  He held her gaze. “Perhaps. Yet no other has accomplished as much—I doubt me another could.”

  “Nay.” She waved the point aside. “You are making too much of it. I merely did what I could—I had a strong suspicion she had become reclusive through lack of encouragement otherwise.” She met his gaze. “Tis not easy for a woman to suddenly find herself useless.”

  His lips twitched. “I can understand you would sympathize.”

  “Aye, tis a point another woman would see.” She paused, then added, “You should not hold yourself at fault.”

  He met her gaze, then looked away. “I will fetch her down.”

  The gong clanged. He let go of her hand and strode to the door. She turned to the window; frowning, she stared at the blue-gray sky. The gong clanged again; with a quick shake of her head, she headed for the hall.

  *

  “There you be, lady. I was a-hoping I would catch you here.”

  At Meg’s cracked tones, Eloise swung about. She was in the stillroom, a chamber sealed behind thick stone walls on the ground floor of the keep, accessible only from the first floor via a steep stair. Small windows covered with thin horn set high in the walls let in narrows shafts of light. Built on bedrock, the air was evenly cool and dry, perfect for storing herbs and the elixirs and potions made from them.

  The old woman stood in the doorway, struggling to catch her breath.

  “Come and sit.” Turning from her workbench, Eloise pulled out a stool. “Tis a fair haul up the steps and down the stairs.”

  She had only reclaimed the stillroom three days ago; until then, there had been too much elsewhere needing her attention. The heavy beams overhead were festooned with bunches of herbs, still green for they had only been gathered yesterday. The herb-garden had run wild; the necessary pruning had yielded bunches of most of the herbs she regularly put by.