It took a moment longer, but slowly, she relaxed her muscles. He took the nettles and slowly, so slowly, placed the leaves nearest the base of the branch onto her clit.
* * *
The sting of the nettle at her sex was something else entirely. Gemma sucked in an audible breath as he pressed the leaf against her, holding it to her. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the prick as each leaf first touched her or the burn that followed. He held her spread open, and she imagined him looking at her. That thought aroused her even as her bottom burned with the punishment he delivered. When she dared, she turned her head slightly to find his eyes dark, watching only that exposed, punished part of her. He drew the branch upward slowly, dragging it along the open lips of her sex. Fresh leaves left their mark as he continued, scorching her in their wake as they traveled, spreading her juices upward until each leaf had touched all of her, her clit, her sex, her bottom hole, marking every inch of her.
When he dropped the nettles, she exhaled and closed her eyes, the burn still as intense as if the leaves were still pressed there. The stinging heat was painful, but it stirred something else in her as well, and she found it easier to manage when she did not clench her bottom but remained open, exposed.
“Stay as you are,” he instructed. She felt his other hand on her. He had taken off both gloves now and caressed her buttocks and her thighs with both hands. “You did well, Gemma,” he said. “You took your punishment well.”
“It’s over?” she asked.
“Punishment, yes,” he said as she felt one hand slide between her legs.
She gasped when it closed over her clit and he moved to kneel behind her, between her legs. She moaned, the fleeting thought that she should resist him passing through her mind when with his other hand, he rubbed at the opening of her sex, collecting the moisture there, dipping one finger gently inside before dragging it to cover her rear entrance. He pressed there but did not enter as his other hand massaged her clit.
“Gemma,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes as he slowly pulled her torso upright. He shifted his hand so it came to the front of her, still working her sex while his other hand fondled her breasts, her nipples.
She was unable to manage words, but a moan did escape her.
“I want you,” he said. “I need to have you.”
She turned her face to look at his, all the while feeling his cock pressing at her low back. She eased her body into his, and with that small softening, he turned her, his one hand cupping her bottom, fingertips at her sex, his other holding her to him as his mouth took hers in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue penetrated her lips while his finger lingered at her virgin entrance.
She reached to his shoulders and pushed at his shirt, wanting his chest bare, wanting to press her naked body against his—bare flesh to bare flesh.
Her own kissing grew more urgent as he undressed. When he lay her on her back, she did not resist as he brought his body between her legs, his full weight on her, pressing against her ribs, her lungs. Her breath grew short with the pressure but all she could think of, all she could feel was the kiss, his mouth on hers, his body on hers. Her skin against his skin felt hot, felt good, felt right. He reached down with one hand to free his cock, and when he did, she felt it against her stomach, moist with sweat or arousal, smelling of man, of him.
She pushed at him, wanting to see. He let her up while he slid his pants off his legs. She reached to touch him, her eyes curious, her touch inexperienced. Remembering what he had done to her last night, she licked her lips and glanced at him, asking permission with her eyes. He cupped her neck, the back of her head and nudged her head gently downward, guiding her toward his cock.
Her tongue darted out to catch the single drop that glistened at the very tip. He tasted like he smelled, all man. She opened her mouth, suddenly ravenous. He moaned when she sealed her lips around his cock and sucked hard, perhaps too hard when he muttered a curse and, gripping a handful of her hair, tugged her off.
“I’m sorry,” she began, but he swallowed her words when he once again covered her mouth with his.
“You did nothing wrong,” he managed.
Tastes mingled while he lay her down on her back, nudging her legs wider. She realized after a moment that while he kissed her, he had untied her bracer and was sliding it from her arm. She gave herself over to him, allowing anything, everything. When she felt his cock at the entrance of her sex, she opened her eyes only to find him watching her, his blue eyes dark, his forehead creased, slick with sweat. He gripped both of her wrists in one if his hands, nothing gentle about his touch, and when she reached to kiss him, he pulled back.
“No. I want to watch you first. Keep your eyes on me, Gemma,” he said, his voice gruff.
As he finished his sentence, she felt him sliding into her slick passage. He moved slowly at first, claiming her inch by inch. When he reached her virgin barrier, he gripped her wrists with both hands and lifted himself slightly.
“This will hurt, but only for a moment,” he said.
There was a moment of hesitance at his words, but she wanted him more than she was afraid of the pain. She opened her legs wider, inviting him into her, wanting him to claim her, to take her. But when he moved, when he did just as she wanted, she called out, trying to pull her wrists free, feeling a tearing, then the warm flow of blood between her legs, understanding why he had removed her bracer.
But he held her firm, and she gave over to it, to him.
He felt hot inside her as he pushed deeper. He neither moved slowly nor was he gentle. He was taking from her now and watching her face as he did, making sure she understood he owned her in that moment.
Once he was fully, deeply seated, he stilled for a moment. She watched his face, his eyes, as he pulled all the way out and then pummeled into her again and again, taking her, simply taking every inch of her until the pain she had felt moments ago mingled with a pleasure she had only just discovered the night before when his mouth had closed over her sex. And even then, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t this complete sensation of pain and pleasure, of being claimed and filled, of being owned and taken. She closed her eyes for an instant as a cry escaped her lips. Ecstasy took her while he moved inside her, and just as she came down from her flight, she felt him still, his cock throbbing, his eyes nearly black with arousal before he closed them, reaching his own climax, pumping his seed inside her.
Chapter Nine
They rode in silence. Gemma led the way, her horse just slightly ahead of his. He kept close to her, and she could feel him watching her. Her bottom was sore, but the burn from the nettles was gone. What pained her now was something else: she was sore from what they had done after her punishment.
He had taken her. He had had her. She had allowed it when he had asked permission. If she’d not granted it, would he have taken it? She glanced his way but turned quickly forward when she found his eyes on her. No, he would not have taken her had she not allowed it.
She tried to concentrate on the mist that marked the path before them.
“What did we do?” she asked finally, once the silence had become unbearable.
He glanced at her, then straight ahead, then back again. She looked at him from beneath her lashes, fearing she saw something akin to regret in his eyes.
He kept up their pace and didn’t look at her when he asked, “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Not like that.” She also looked straight ahead, feeling frustrated and embarrassed. “It’s not what I meant. I meant—what did we do?”
It took him a moment to turn to her. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he began, “but there is only pain the first time. I will try to be more gentle the next time. And I perhaps should have waited until our wedding night, but a part of your mother’s message…”
She could only stare at him. “What message?”
He wavered for a moment.
“What message?” she asked again.
“I took your virginity, Gemma.
They cannot sacrifice you. Only a virgin’s blood carries the promise of immortality.”
She stared at him, not understanding. She felt cold all of a sudden. Did he not care for her at all? Did he do it out of a sense of duty?
“I don’t want a husband,” she said quietly. “You owe me nothing if you did this only to keep me safe… I mean, if you regret…” She refused to look at him.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he brought both horses to a stop. “Gemma, I do not regret.”
She kept her gaze down on her hands.
“Look at me,” he insisted, turning her chin up so she faced him. “I do not regret. Do you understand?” he asked.
“I do not want a husband,” she repeated.
“You have said that many times before, but perhaps you do not understand what sort of husband I would be.”
“What sort is that?” she asked, needing time to think.
“Your father was kind to your mother, I believe?” he asked.
“Yes, always. He loved her.”
“You don’t have much experience with others—men or women—so why is your view of marriage so negative?”
“It’s not that it’s negative. It’s that I…” She what? She looked ahead, trying to sort her thoughts.
“You what? You must know that I will challenge your ideas, your thoughts, just as I expect you to challenge mine. That is the kind of husband I plan to be. The kind of man I am. So answer my question—why so negative a view on men, on a husband?”
She floundered for a moment, having only the truth and feeling weak to think it.
He waited, his smile kind and patient, but at the same time, unrelenting.
“I don’t want to lose my freedom, for one thing,” she began, but that wasn’t the part she was afraid to share.
“And with me, you would not. You will be expected to obey me, but I will not be unreasonable in what I ask of you, and I have no desire to take away your freedom. But go on, you said ‘for one thing’. There must be another,” he prompted.
“I do not want to have children,” she lied outright.
That surprised him, and he looked at her with questioning eyes.
She looked at her hands, then back at him. “No, that’s not true. My mother died having my sister. I’m so much like her. I don’t want to die like that.”
He smiled and reached over to take her hand. “What happened to your mother was tragic. I can make no promises against death—no one can. What I can promise is to be a good husband, to keep you safe, and to care for you.”
“What about punishment?” she asked.
“I will only punish you if you give me cause to, and the punishment shall never be more than what you yourself earn.”
“I do not have a choice anyway,” she whined.
“Look at me,” he said, squeezing her hand and slowing their horses.
She turned to face him, fearing she might once again be in trouble.
“You always have a choice. You can choose how to take the circumstances of your life and make a happy living from it. You will marry me for a number of reasons, the least of which is that your father has offered me your hand in exchange for embarking on this journey to bring your sister home safely. There are many more benefits to marriage to me, one of which you have just experienced for yourself.”
She blushed and dropped her gaze to where he held onto her hand.
“I am not an ogre, and will not become one once I am your husband, Gemma,” he said. “Or, do you find me so terrible?”
She smiled a little and shook her head. “Only when you punish me.”
He smiled.
“Can you really not see the mist over the path?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.
“No, I cannot. I rely on you utterly at this moment,” he said, bowing his head.
She smiled, appreciating his effort, but the feeling that he might regret what they had done nagged at her.
* * *
They rode through the day, and only as the afternoon gave way to the long shadows of approaching night did they arrive at the end of the path. They were nearing a ridge, and Gemma looked at him, confused, hoping she hadn’t been wrong.
He must have seen it in her eyes. “Ride on,” he said, motioning to the top of the ridge.
They did and sure enough, they had reached the shore. She smiled. “There,” she said, pointing in the distance at the shadow of an island.
Galahad looked out, scanning the beach below. “We’ll ride down to the shore. I see a boat to take us across.”
“It’s quite some distance to cover. Will we bring our horses?” she asked. Crossing the water made her a little uneasy, although she wasn’t sure why.
“If we can, we will. Let’s ride down first before we decide.”
They rode in silence as Gemma’s feeling that something was not quite right grew. “I’m nervous,” she said.
“Aye, so am I,” he confirmed. “This is too easy. But what choice do we have?”
The wind grew stronger as they approached the open land. Clouds gathered overhead, and the water seemed to become more unsettled the closer they got. Gemma shivered.
“There,” Galahad pointed. An old man stood near a waiting boat.
“It’s not right. Something is wrong,” she said, panicked for a moment. As she said it, three other men walked out from behind a large boulder.
“Stay here, I will approach them.”
“No. It’s a trap, I know it. I feel it.”
“Do as I say and stay here,” he instructed once again.
Gemma placed a hand on her bow as she watched Galahad ride toward the men. As soon as he separated from her, an arrow coming from a ridge near the one where they had stood flew through the air.
“Galahad!” she called out, pulling an arrow from her quiver.
Galahad’s speed intensified, and the arrow missed. Gemma turned in the direction the arrow had come from to find an archer aligning his next arrow. She lifted her own bow, narrowed her eyes, spoke her usual poem and released the arrow. The man fell from the ridge without a sound as she watched.
Galahad drew his sword as the three men surrounded his horse. Gemma prepared her next arrow and, just as Galahad’s horse bucked and Galahad fell off, she struck one of them, this one in the throat. There was a moment where the two remaining men turned to her giving Galahad just enough time to stand, raise his sword, and strike one of the men down. There was too much movement for Gemma to get another arrow off, and she remained watching as they battled.
Galahad was clearly the more skilled of the two, but the other man managed to defend every attack even if Galahad did not once allow him an offensive strike. The sound of swords and men was all she could hear as she remained watching, and just when Galahad seemed at a disadvantage and Gemma drew her arrow back, his sword pierced the man’s chest.
Gemma exhaled, her muscles relaxing finally when the man fell to the ground and Galahad stood victorious but breathless over him.
Relieved, she rode fast to him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his breath coming short.
Gemma watched him kneel and wipe the blood from his sword on the fallen men.
“Yes,” she said. “Are you?”
He nodded.
“I’ve never…” she began. Tears filled her eyes at the enormity of what she had done. “I’ve never killed a man.”
Galahad looked at her. “You had no choice, Gemma.”
“I know,” she said. She looked up at the old man who waited by the boat.
Galahad reached up to take her by the waist and carried her off her horse. He then held her close for a moment. “It’s all right. They would have killed us if they could have.”
“I know. I know,” she said, allowing herself one sob before pulling away. “We’re close now. She’s on the island, isn’t she?” she asked.
“I think so.” He looked over at the old man. “Let’s go.”
He took her hand and th
ey walked to him together. When they approached, the aging man took a step backward, holding up his hands. “I meant no harm, the others…”
Galahad stopped him. “We only want to cross to the island, old man. We want nothing with you,” he said.
“Those men… they…” He was clearly afraid. It was obvious he had been held hostage by the others.
“They knew we were coming?” she asked.
Galahad rubbed his chin. “They might have known we would come after Alys, but it is strange that we haven’t been attacked at all yet.”
“Did others cross to the island recently? They would have had a child with them. A young girl.”
The old man nodded once.
“How many?” Gemma asked. “How many men?”
“More than a dozen.”
“How was the girl?”
“Frightened,” he answered quickly, his eyes sad.
“Can you carry the horses over as well?” Galahad asked the man. This was their priority now, they needed to cross to the island.
“Aye, I can,” he said.
“Let us go then,” Galahad said. He looked up to the sky. In the horizon, the sun was setting. “Before it’s too dark.”
The man led them on board the boat. The horses didn’t like it, but Galahad pulled them along as well. The crossing took a quarter of an hour, and the water grew more and more choppy. When Gemma set foot on the island, it couldn’t have been soon enough.
“Good luck to you,” the old man said, quickly climbing back on board to cross back.
“Wait,” Galahad called out, holding onto his arm.
“Please, Sir. I’m just an old man. Let me go back before it’s too late.”
“Which way did they walk?” Galahad asked.
“West.”
“Thank you,” Gemma said.
He looked at her and nodded once then turned and set out. They watched the old man as he began to cross back over, then headed into the forest to find shelter for the night.
Her Rogue Knight Page 10
