by Gwen Rowley
She had become his whole world—how could he not have seen that? He had foolishly worried over her loyalty, as if such a woman ever falsely claimed her emotions. A disloyal woman would have left him long ago. She didn’t need him to survive, as she had so amply proven on this journey. She had found the troll, gotten them out of the caves. She had nursed him, and was about to feed him—what did she even need him for, if not as her husband?
She hadn’t left, because she loved him, because she was loyal to him. His own doubts made him feel like a very small man, unworthy of her. But she must have found something good in him, because she loved him. He would never doubt her again.
He must have made a choked sound, because she stilled and looked at him, panic and worry washing over her face. He sat up, turned his grimace into a grin and gave a little wave. Her smile was surely brighter than the sun, and she ran toward him. His mouth fell open at the grace and beauty she displayed. He would have to keep her naked more often.
“Geraint!” She fell to her knees at his side and cupped his face in both hands. “Your fever is still gone. How do you feel?”
“Tired, but well. You have healed me, my beloved wife.”
She grinned, pushing behind her ear a strand of golden hair that had come loose from the leather strap holding it back. “Aye, I might have helped, but time and rest and water did most of the work. This is already our second day here.”
“No wonder I’m starving.” He sent a longing glance at the rabbit.
“Of course! I managed to get you to swallow small pieces early this morning, and I just killed another rabbit. Between the two of us, we will be hungry enough to eat at least a dozen. But start on this one, while I prepare the next.”
He caught her hand when she would have risen. She gave him a questioning look.
“You have eaten?” he asked softly, caressing her arm, which had showed its strength in her care of him.
She grinned. “Aye. And I promise I will eat more. But the rabbit I just killed is a plump one. There will be plenty. If ’tis all right with you, I think we should remain here another night, to eat and rest and heal. I know our people must believe us dead . . .” she added with worry, her gaze darting to the south.
Our people. He loved the sound of that. “Aye, but they’ll understand that we had to keep ourselves alive to return to them. I am sure that my father will soon join them, since I’d already sent word about the Saxon incursion.”
“He will be mourning you,” she whispered.
“Not for long. We will be back by tomorrow night. The horses could only have carried us so far.” He patted the ground beside him. “Come back to me soon, Enid, and rest.”
She gave him a quick kiss, then glanced at his lap. Arching a brow, she said, “If a single kiss does that—”
“And your lovely nakedness.”
“Then I’d best hurry.”
Though he was tired, he could not sleep for watching Enid work. There would be time later for slumber—and other things.
Chapter 24
WHEN the sun began to set, and their garments were dry, Geraint watched with regret as Enid clothed herself in her shirt. He had enjoyed every moment of his day with her, even watching her eat. But when the night sky came to life one star at a time, he finally gave his mind permission to reflect on baser needs. And he wanted her to know that he accepted everything she was.
She sat near him, warming her hands over the fire, licking her fingers clean of the remains of their meal.
He hesitated, wondering how she would take his questions, but decided to ask them just the same. “Enid, do not fear I mean to censure you, but I am curious.”
She froze, her fingertip still in her mouth.
“Tell me how you trained the men.”
Her finger popped free of her lips with a soft, wet sound that made his blood begin to heat and pool.
She took a breath. “Trained in . . . battle skills?”
He shook his head.
She leaned away from the fire and clasped her hands in her lap with a nervousness that he regretted. He brought both her hands to his lips, then turned them and kissed the palms. She sucked in her breath.
In a low voice, he said, “I want to know all of you, even this part of your past. I want to take that experience and make it something we share, too, to make it only between us from now on.”
She looked at him solemnly. “You know I will never share myself with another man.”
“I trust you completely. But show me . . . teach me. Pretend that I am a man who does not yet know how to please a woman.”
He sat back and waited. For a moment, he thought she would refuse.
Not meeting his eyes, she said, “No man has ever pleasured me as you do.”
“I know.”
She finally looked at him in surprise, and they shared a grin. Hers slowly faded as she studied him. Then she reached behind her head and released her hair. She’d washed it in the river, and it was clean and fresh.
“There are more important things to a woman than what is between her legs,” she began slowly.
“Aye.” He put a hand on her breast and squeezed.
She pushed him away, trying not to smile. “Nay, you betray your youth, lad. A woman wants to be valued for more than your need to have her. Think of her as a pet cat, to be petted and praised. I hope you will woo her with the same gentleness even before the night play.”
“I must?”
“Aye, you must. Talk to her, listen to her, care about what she says. You need not agree with it all, but you should be willing to compromise. Respect means everything to a woman. When you have her respect, you have the beginnings of true intimacy.”
He had made so many mistakes with her—he thought he’d respected her, but in the end he hadn’t shown his trust. He would spend a lifetime making it up to her. But for now he would continue to play his part. “Now can I touch you?”
“Nay. We will begin with a woman’s hair.”
“The hair between her—”
She covered his mouth with her hand and tried to look stern. “As all men do, you go too quickly. Patience is the key, lad. Just listen and do not speak. Run your hands through her hair, enjoy its softness, while you give your mate the gift of your gentleness.”
She bent toward him, and he buried both hands deep in her hair, moving his fingertips along her scalp. He swept his thumbs over her brow, then back over her head.
She purred her response. “Ah, you learn quickly, lad.”
“Teach me more,” he whispered, not trusting his voice.
“A kiss should not be an assault, or a sudden unwanted mating of the tongues.”
“I cannot kiss her?” he said, letting his despair show.
“I did not say that. Just begin gently, reverently, for a woman’s skin is softer, more delicate than yours, and it should be treated as such. Later, if you are successful, she will meet your efforts with more enthusiasm. You can respond in kind.”
They were still close, facing one another, and all she did was tip her face up to meet him. He pressed his lips to hers gently, over and over again, exploring each moist curve.
His breathing came harder, faster. “Might I kiss more of her face?”
“Of course. But remain gentle.”
But she gripped his tunic at the arms with a tightness that betrayed her own needs.
He kissed each part of her face, from her nose to her forehead to her eyelids. He nibbled on her chin, gently bit her earlobe, then hovered over her lips once more.
Her mouth was parted with her breathing, and they stared into each other’s eyes.
“I have heard,” he began slowly, “that a man may use his tongue.”
She licked her lips. “Aye, but not in a wet, intrusive way. Gentle licks, slow strokes that lead into more patient exploration. This works the best to ease the worries of an innocent maiden.”
“And later? May I kiss her with a fierceness later?”
She moaned
. “Oh, aye, of course.”
He licked his way across her lips, then dipped slowly inside. “Is she supposed to answer me in kind?”
“Give her a chance,” she whispered, a hint of the frantic about her now.
He entered her mouth more fully, and she met his tongue with her own, stroking and tasting.
“Am I supposed to like this so much?” he said against her mouth.
Her voice was only a whisper of breath. “Aye.”
They kissed for several more minutes, until he broke contact. “Now can I grab her womanly parts?”
“Nay, you still hurry too much!”
“Those kisses were not hurried!”
“Your caresses should not be either. Every part of a woman’s skin is sensitive, from the curve of her shoulder to the tip of her toes.”
“But are not her garments already removed?”
“Nay, you should do that yourself. It helps to increase a woman’s arousal.”
“Then next she’ll strip me?”
She bit her lip, and he loved the smile that teased him.
“Perhaps not the first few times,” she admitted. “As a virgin, she will not know what to do until you teach her. If you have succeeded in relaxing her, she will want to remove your clothing to please you—and to please herself.”
He fingered the gathered neckline of her shirt, letting his fingers slide beneath to tease her skin. The tension in her muscles pleased him, as if she could barely hold herself back.
“Where should I begin?” he asked. “I do not wish to disturb her sensitive womanly parts too soon.”
Her laughter was low, husky. “Later, when you know each other better, she might like that. But for now, caress her gently through her garments, starting with her limbs and then moving to her breasts.”
He slid one finger down the slope of her taut breast and was rewarded with a gasp. “I cannot start here right away?”
She clasped his hand before he could do more and placed it on her shoulder. “Feel a woman’s skin, notice how different she is than you are. Begin to loosen her clothing as you caress her.”
“You are not wearing much.”
“Your mate might not be either.”
He explored her collarbones like they were the fine bones of a bird’s wings. He caressed the lean muscles of her arms, circled her wrists, and explored her long fingers. When she arched toward him, freely offering her chest, he restrained himself and slid his hands down her hips and onto her legs. Her thighs were bare beneath her shirt, so supple and strong. He felt the ripple of scrapes and wounds across her knees, and he bent low over them, full of reverent respect for all she’d gone through.
“I might kiss a woman’s wounds?” he asked tentatively.
“Aye, please,” she said.
“I can kiss her limbs, not just caress them?”
Her answer was a groan. She fell back against the ground arching up as if needing her lover to rise over her. But not yet. They weren’t done with the lessons.
He kissed her bruises and hurts, licked a path behind her knees and down her calves to her ankles. He kissed his way back up again and stopped at her hemline.
“Might I kiss higher?”
Her thighs sagged open in surrender, then suddenly she closed them tight and sat up. “Nay, nay, not the first time. You will scare an innocent maiden, who won’t understand the pleasures of such lovemaking.”
“Then there is pleasure using one’s mouth? I had heard rumors . . .”
She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her chest. After a moment, she was able to frown at him. “But you have forgotten what comes next, after you caress a woman’s limbs.”
He let his gaze slide leisurely down her body. “Her breasts?”
With sincerity, she said, “They are so sensitive. Do not maul or grope them. You know how sensitive a man’s loins are; so are a woman’s breasts.”
“Will you demonstrate how sensitive a man’s loins are?”
“Later.”
She leaned back on her hands, and her proud breasts thrust against the thin, worn cloth of her shirt. He could see the dusky outline of her nipples. He traced the shape of her with a gentle fingertip; she shivered and moaned and pressed against him. He circled the nipple, then delicately squeezed it between his fingers.
“Ah, lad, you learn quickly,” she gasped.
He knelt before her, no longer even noticing his own wounds. He cupped both her breasts in his hands and caressed them. Each gasp he wrung from her was pleasure in and of itself.
He tugged on the string at her neckline, and the knot gave way. She dipped her head back, and her long hair slid slowly about her shoulders. The shirt loosened with each tug, baring her shoulders, which gleamed by firelight. Another tug and the upper curves of her breasts were revealed. Another, and the garment slid to her waist and wrists.
As he looked at her, her eyelids lowered partway, and again she licked her lips. Softly, she murmured, “When a woman bares herself to you, she is giving you all of her trust. You must never abuse her or betray her.”
He stared at her, feeling the sadness of his own actions and how they must have hurt her.
Her eyes widened. “I did not mean that you—I am just telling you what I say to my students—”
“Hush, I know.”
He kissed her then, with gentleness and love. Then he once again took her breasts in his hands and raised them both toward his mouth. At the last moment, he gave her a questioning look.
“I can kiss them now?”
She moaned. “And even use your tongue—gently at first, of course.”
“Without permission?”
She pulled his head to her, and he took the sweetness of her nipple into his mouth. He suckled her and teased her, easing her back so that he could reach every part of her. He treated her like she was unexplored territory, now his.
“Oh, that’s good,” she whispered. “Your mate will be appreciative.”
“I can take the rest of her clothes off now?”
“She should let you, as long as you have performed this well with her.”
She removed her sleeves and lifted her hips, and he slid the last of her garments away. He hesitated, admiring her nudity.
“Should I remove my clothing now?” he asked.
Enid rested her head on her bent arm. “Sometimes a woman will be so shy the first time, that she will not want to see too much of you. After all, men are very different from women.”
He stared at the curling hair above her thighs. “I can see that.”
“Eventually she will want to see all of you, to touch and kiss you as you have done to her, perhaps even undress you. You will be teaching her that as you please her. But judge her mood the first time, and give her what she needs to feel at ease with you.”
“Can I pretend that you are a woman who will not mind seeing my body?”
“Of course.” Her voice was strained, and she watched without blinking as he pulled off his tunic and shirt.
Enid could barely think, so consumed was she with the need to feel Geraint on top of her, inside her. Their playacting was enjoyable. But the most important thing was that she would never again worry that he might compare himself to the three men who had lain with her for one night each. He had to know that those acts, between teacher and student, contained none of the glorious feelings that she shared only with him.
But still, the teasing light in Geraint’s eyes pleased her, and she was glad to play her part. He rose up on his knees above her, and his erection showed that he was more than ready.
She reached for him, and he pulled back.
“She might touch me, even the first time?” he asked with disbelief.
She settled back onto her elbows and grinned. “Probably not the first time, but eventually she will understand that such things give you pleasure.”
He put his hands on her knees. “But I cannot wait much longer. How do I—how will she—” He stopped as if he didn’t know wha
t to do next. “Will it not hurt her?”
“Perhaps the first time. When a man caresses her, a woman’s body prepares itself for mating. Yet still the maidenhead must be broken. After that, if a woman understands that the pain will be brief, she will relax once again in your arms. Lay with a woman first. Let her feel your skin against hers. You should keep kissing her, caressing her, while she becomes used to the weight of you on top of her.”
“Will I not crush her?”
“Not if you hold yourself above her by your elbows or hands. You can even caress her deepest parts, though being shy, the woman might not wish it too much the first time.”
He parted her legs and stared between her thighs. “How will I know what to do?”
“Just be gentle.” Her voice shook. “You will know by her movements and her breathing and her moans what she likes.”
He came down in the grass just to the side of her, letting their legs entwine. She could hardly think, let alone teach, but she would see the game out and be finished with her past. He slid his hand between her thighs, cupping her at first, then sliding his fingers in deeper to explore.
She closed her eyes and tried to speak. “A-a woman deserves to reach her own pleasure, just like a man, though you might have to teach each other what works best for her. She could experience it beforehand, or even while you are inside her.”
She felt his arousal hard and insistent against her thigh, but still his fingers worked their magic, circling the sensitive bud of her desire until she was urging him on with soft cries. When he stopped, she could not withhold a groan of dismay.
“Too soon?” he whispered against her lips.
She gasped out her agreement.
This time he slid his fingers inside of her. “Here it is,” he said, as if he were proud of his accomplishments.
