Anice's Bargain

by Madeline Martin

He pushed up her skirt. Skirts, rather. And a damn lot of them, at that. Layer after layer, he peeled back, like a flower with too many bloody petals and the sweetest, sweetest nectar within. His palms brushed milky white thighs that trembled against his touch, and his fingertips grazed her center. Wet with wanting, swollen with need.

  Anice buried her face against his neck and cried out.

  He ran the length of his middle finger up and down her sex, never quite touching the engorged bud at the top. Energy raced in his veins like lightning, blazing a path into every muscle, heightening every sensation. Too much want. It threatened to overwhelm him.

  Here. There. Now. Later. Naked. Different ways. Dress falling around his hips while she rode him. Here against the hard wall. Through the night. All of it.

  Her hands roamed down his torso. There was no hesitation as she reached between their bodies and molded her hands to the outline of his cock. His bollocks tightened.

  A growl tore from his throat. He grabbed her hands and pushed them gently, but firmly, to the wall, so she remained aloft only by his body pressed greedily to hers.

  She clung to him with her thighs, squeezing, grinding, opening and flexing. It would be so easy to take her like this. To tug free the ties of his breeches and let his cock spring free from its brutal confines. One thrust.

  He dragged his mouth down her flushed chest to one bared breast, tipped with a hardened nipple and desperate for suckling.

  One thrust and he would sink into her wet heat, buried to the hilt. She panted in excited gasps. He released her hands and grasped her bottom, holding her in place while his right hand jerked at his ties. One thrust. She would be his. Here. Now.

  His elbow knocked the table and something on its surface gave a wobbling rattle. A stone jar. The ointment the healer had sent up. To ease a virgin’s first time, she’d claimed.

  In an instant, that little pot of balm broke through the frenzy of his lust. He couldn’t take her against a wall, or with a single lusty push. He needed to be gentle. No matter how much she begged for it, he would need to ease her through this.

  With a harsh gasp, he carefully eased her to the ground and backed away. Her dress swept over her legs once more, the fabric crumpled.

  She blinked and her reddened mouth fell open. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Nay, lass. I did.”

  “But you’ll still—” She bit her lip.

  “Ach, aye.” He stroked a hand down her cheek, to her neck and cupped the silken weight of her bared breast in his hand. “I almost forgot myself for a moment there. I was too eager.” He brushed a thumb over her nipple in a subtle sweep.

  Her lashes fluttered downward. “I’m as eager as you.”

  “Ye’re still a maiden, lass.” He circled the hard, pink nub, while his other hand pulled free the ribbon at the back of her gown. “I need to be gentle with ye.” One loop at a time slipped free and the bodice began to sag open.

  “Not so gentle.” She leaned her head back, exposing her long, graceful neck.

  He licked a hot line up her neck and tenderly nipped the skin just under her ear. “No’ too gentle. Just the right amount, aye?”

  She shivered and tiny gooseflesh ripples rose over her skin. Apparently, she was in agreement.

  James released her breast to pull away the bodice and push it into the crumpled fabric of her voluminous skirts below. A stiffened linen binding remained over her chemise, wrapping over her torso and restrained only half of her bosom. A quick slip of a bow released that as well, and it joined the cloud of fabric at their feet.

  Anice regarded him with a hooded expression and pulled free the small tie at her chemise. Her fingers moved with coy grace, widening the neck until it fell over her smooth shoulders, past her firm breasts and dropped to reveal the tempting triangle of blonde curls.

  James swallowed.

  He reached for her with a trembling hand. Every part of her was as exquisite without clothing as she was with. More so.

  Just as he was even more hideous without clothing than with.

  She was like hot silk beneath his touch. Her breath came faster as he stroked her flat belly and paid homage to the breast he had ignored, the one trapped in the linen binding she’d worn for the gown.

  He kissed her again and traced the seam of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. When she parted her lips, he let her control the speed, the heat. He wanted her to be so desperate for relief that she would not feel pain.

  Blindly, he grabbed the small stone pot and guided her to the bed amid the slanting, passionate kisses. She sank to the mattress, clinging to him, pulling him toward her.

  He flicked the jar top free with the edge of his thumb. It clattered noisily to the ground and a sweet, herbal perfume filled the room. Meadowsweet and chamomile, and something he could not quite identify.

  Regardless, it gave him an idea.

  “Lay on yer stomach,” his whispered.

  Anice lifted a brow, her swollen mouth curling into a sensual smile. She obeyed. Her round bottom rose firm and tempting below the seductive dip in her lower back, while her breasts pressed out from beneath her. James swept away her thick golden hair, revealing her back to him. He dipped his fingers into the sweet-smelling ointment and smoothed it over her upper back, applying pressure as he did so.

  Anice gave a hum of pleasure. Encouraged, he continued on, working over her upper back first, slowly making his way to her fine arse. At long last, his hands cupped each globe in his palms and squeezed. She arched, pushing into his touch.

  He swept his hands over her arse and let his fingertips casually graze her center. She gasped with a sharp intake of breath and wriggled her bottom higher, her thighs straining to part.

  He moved to her legs then, rubbing his fingers against the delicate curve of her calf, the back of her knee, up her inner thighs, which parted for him. Only one swift glance of his thumb over her sex and then he was massaging her bottom again, gripping it in his hands while his fingers teased closer to the inside of her thighs.

  She squirmed under his ministrations. The scent of meadowsweet and chamomile rose around him like a drug, intoxicating in the most wonderful ways.

  “Touch me,” she whimpered. “Please.”

  He dipped his fingers into the pot once more and did exactly what she asked: he pressed his hand between her legs and stroked up the line of her sex.

  She cried out and pushed her bottom more firmly in the air. One day he would take her thus, with her breasts cradled in his palms while he thrust into her from behind.

  But for now, tonight, he would take his time and treat her with the greatest care. Though it might drive them both mad with wanting.

  16

  Anice could not arch her back any further. Already, she had her bottom in the air as high as it would go, her intimate place bared for James’s touch. He cupped her sex in his palm and rubbed against her only once before massaging her thighs and bottom again.

  The mattress shifted as he got onto the bed beside her. Warm breath caressed the sensitive dip between her neck and shoulder. “Turn over.”

  She complied immediately. She’d leap from a cliff right now, if it meant sating the pounding heat thundering between her thighs.

  He scooped his fingers into the small jar and the sweet scent hovering in the air grew stronger. “Spread your legs, wife.”

  Her thighs parted immediately, eliciting a lopsided smile from him. And then his fingers were on her. In her. Stroking, spreading, filling. Her hips undulated with his careful rhythm as the tingling heat of the balm set her aflame.

  “I can’t take any more.” She grabbed his hand.

  Watching her, he circled his thumb upward and hit the most sensitive spot of all. He pushed inside her with the finger of one hand, while the other hand stroked that bud until her heart nearly rent from her chest.

  He stopped abruptly and got to his feet. He turned his back to her and pushed down his trews, revealing a sculpted bottom and muscled legs. Nex
t came his doublet, and finally his shirt.

  Anice sucked in a breath. She knew James to be taller than most men, his shoulders broader. However, she had not anticipated all of him to be crafted from such raw power. Lines carved deep shadows and sensual valleys into his back, hard-won strength that glowed with good health. His body was magnificent, stacked with muscle and strength.

  “James.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken his name until he turned toward her.

  Scarred flesh, rippled and mutilated, slashed across the expanse of his massive chest. Whatever he had endured to receive such a mark would have surely felled a lesser man.

  Were she not in such a fevered state, she might have lost herself on the horror of such a scar. She slid her gaze down where his hardened muscles flexed and strained with each ragged breath, and even lower still.

  Anice’s mouth went dry.

  A thick column of flesh jutted from a cloud of dark hair. Certainly far larger than Marin’s slender finger in her sword-to-sheath display.

  A battle axe, indeed.

  Perhaps Anice ought to be frightened by such a display of masculinity, but the wet heat of her core was eager to be filled with every inch of it. He crawled onto the bed once more, positioning himself on top of her. So close.

  Anice bent her legs at the knees to welcome his weight. Regardless, only half of his bulk settled on her, the other part braced on his elbow while his free hand shifted to his shaft to aim it toward her center. He ran his fist up and down his length, leaving it glistening with the balm he’d used on her.

  Now.

  Anice wriggled and tried to move higher to meet him. The blunt head of his arousal clumsily brushed her entrance. Her hips jerked upward.

  “Slow,” he gritted out.

  But she didn’t care for slow. Not when she had spent so long anticipating this moment.

  His pelvis flexed forward, and he pushed inside of her. There was pleasure, and a low-lying burn. Anice remained in place, held thus by inexperience, by unknowing.

  James pushed into her once more, but he did not go much deeper than his first attempt. “Relax, mo leannan.”

  The burr of his Scottish words melted over her, and the tension drained from her muscles. He moved in slow, careful thrusts, easing into her a fraction of an inch at a time.

  Each shift brought him deeper into her, filling her more and more, rubbing at the swollen nub of her sex, pushing past the pinch of discomfort and creating a wave of pleasure.

  Anice moved with him, awkward and clumsy at first, then slowly caught on to his rhythm. Their bodies rocked together; their breaths came in gasps.

  She clasped her feet to the back of his buttocks and pulled him firmly toward her. “More,” she gasped.

  He pushed into her, so their pelvises met, his shaft buried fully within her. He caught her hips in his hands and plunged into her harder, faster, building speed. Her body tightened and everything splintered apart on the wings of her crises. The thrusts against her came in quick jerks before he shoved fully and completely into her, following with a low grunting groan.

  They remained locked together, hearts racing, breaths coming heavy and fast. Anice glanced up with a shy look at her new husband, in body now as well as in name, and discovered him watching her with an unreadable expression.

  “Did I hurt ye?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nay.” She rolled her hips and a little shiver of pleasure rippled through her. “I’d like to do it again.”

  “Now?” He gave her an incredulous stare.

  The leisurely relaxation of her limbs and the giddiness tickling through her veins pulled a languid smile from her. “Mayhap a bit later…”

  He smoothed the hair from her brow. “Ach, later for certes, mo leannan.” His mouth brushed against hers.

  She parted her lips and swept her tongue against his. Her hands slid up the chiseled lines of his body. Had anyone ever been as powerful and impossibly strong as her husband?

  She wanted to touch every part of him, savor the steely muscle beneath surprisingly soft skin.

  James lifted his head from hers, breaking the kiss. “Luath,” he groaned.

  Later.

  He eased himself from between her thighs and pushed himself to his feet. He padded softly to the ewer and he swiftly washed himself. He then wet a second length of linen and carried it to the bed.

  Anice merely laid in bed and observed James’s body as he moved, the play and flex of muscles she had not known one could possess. He turned to make his way to the bed, and again she noted the massive scar marring his chest, though he held the linen in an obvious attempt to shield it.

  This time, she was not so distracted. “What happened?”

  “I’m going to clean ye.” He settled on the bed beside her and let his fingertips trail over the sensitive line of her inner thigh.

  A wonderful tingle followed in the wake of his touch. She widened her legs. “The scar on your chest.” The cloth swept over the heat of her sex, cool and refreshing. She leaned her head back in pleasure as it stroked over her once more. “From battle?”

  “Aye.” His ministrations were gentle and done with obvious care.

  “What happened?”

  Another sweep of the linen. The soothing circular motion was pulling her attention back to the idea of coupling once more. Abruptly, James got to his feet and returned to the ewer.

  “An injury,” came his simple reply.

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  He pulled the covers back and first tucked her beneath them, then crawled onto the bed beside her. “It isna a story for lasses.”

  “I’m no ordinary lass.” She glanced up at him with a grin.

  He chuckled, a warm, deep sound that rumbled in his broad chest. “Nay, ye’re no’.” His expression turned serious and he pressed his lips together. “I generally dinna talk about it.”

  “Will you?” Anice danced her fingertips over one of his large shoulders, marveling at how firm his body was beneath. “With me? Please?”

  He was quiet for a long moment. And she was on the edge of thinking he’d decline, when he finally nodded his head. “Aye.” He stroked a hand down her face. “Then mayhap we can both truly know one another.”

  It was her turn to be hesitant. Her confession to him about no one ever truly knowing her had been foolish and dramatic. She had hoped he had forgotten it, but evidently it had stuck fast in his memory.

  At least now, she would get to know him.

  James had never told anyone what had happened the day death came for him. He’d mentioned part of it to his da, but it was not the whole story. Even now, the temptation was there to only regale Anice with what she was expecting. Except Leila’s warning had stuck with him as surely as Anice’s confession had that day he’d given her the dried venison.

  This marriage could not be a failure, not for Anice’s people, not for his people who wanted a better life, and not for James and Anice. Not when their souls were bound together for all eternity. They would not fail.

  And honesty would be the first difficult step.

  “We were reiving a castle, one of the ones in the Middle lands. Some nobleman’s home with fat cows and so many well-fed soldiers, we assumed he wouldna notice a few head of cattle had gone missing.”

  Anice gave a skeptical lift of her brow. “They always notice.”

  He shrugged. “Aye, and they did. A fight broke out. I had an especially large cow on a line and was trying to tug the obdurate beast from its pen when I heard a voice telling me to stop. I swung about and saw a lad there, nay older than yer Leila. The sword in his hand shook, but he dinna back down from me.”

  James could still see the lad in his mind’s eye, the scruff of blonde hair falling over either side of his small face, his glinting dark eyes narrowed with stoic resolve.

  “One of our men saw him and ran at the lad in the haze of blood lust, as some men in battle are wont to do.” As the words spilled from James’s mouth, he hat
ed the taste of them being spoken out loud. “I saw what my brethren was about to do, and I stood in front of the boy to protect him.”

  James shifted his gaze from Anice’s upturned face and focused instead on the whorls of blue and white paint on the wooden underside of the bed’s canopy. “I killed him. He was my father’s own man, and I killed him. I dinna want to, but he wouldna back down. If I hadna done what I did, the lad would have died.”

  Anice said nothing, but her slender hand slipped into his and squeezed.

  “I couldna believe what I’d done.” James closed his eyes, but it only intensified the vision. His father’s man pitching forward, face registering surprise, and one final fogged exhale as his face fell into the snow. “I was so stunned that I dropped my blade and staggered back. The lad was emboldened by my being disarmed and distracted. He lunged at me with his sword thrust in front of him like the warrior he would someday be.”

  James pointed to the heavy strip of scarred flesh on his chest. “He got me right here. I dinna fight back. It was daft, but all I could think was that he was only a lad, even as I fell.” He smirked. “Of all the battles I’ve fought, and all the fierce warriors I’ve slain, it was a mere lad who finally brought me to ground.”

  Anice’s graceful fingers swept over the pinkened skin of James’s scar, and he did not stop her. What did it matter, when the most vulnerable part of him had been bared?

  She lifted her hand to his face and gently turned him toward her once more. “You saved that boy. You did what was right; he was simply scared. It’s why he attacked.”

  James nodded. “Aye, I realize that. I think it’s what stayed my hand from defending myself.”

  Her touch returned to the scar in a delicate caress. “This is the kind of wound that could have ended a man.”

  “It almost did with me.”

  “Tell me,” she whispered. “I want to know all of it.”

  With the worst of the awful tale already told, the rest came out with surprising ease. “I woke up in a feather bed with a heavy fur coverlet and a man in fine clothes sitting in a chair in the room. He told me I’d been struck down by his son for trying to steal the lad’s favorite cow, and I’d nearly died from my wound, and then from a fever after that. I’d been there nearly three weeks and was only just beginning to rouse.”