by Jo Beverley
Hot almost to sweating, she could only shake her head.
"And I bum. Do you think I burn for every lovely young woman I meet?"
"Yes."
He laughed. "Very well. A little, yes. But not like this, Joan. On my honor."
He looked completely honest, but her stern common sense was not dead. "It's only the night, and the cave, and the fear."
"I'm not afraid."
"You're probably never afraid."
"Any man fears when there is reason to. He does not let it rule him. But I do not borrow fear, and nor should you. What tomorrow brings, we will deal with tomorrow. Now is now and, yes, it's the night and the cave. But it's also you." He rubbed his face against her, and his mouth brushed—once, twice—across her nipples. "I never thought I'd like a woman with a sharp tongue, still less one who hurled rocks at my head. But you are like pepper to my senses—burning but delicious."
Looking down, she could see her brazen nipples pushing at the cloth. She watched as he repeated, "Delicious," and put teeth gently to first one, then the other.
Conquered, she let her weak knees give way so she knelt, supported by her arms on his thighs. "You shouldn't encourage me. I'm sure my tongue can get worse and worse."
"Then I will teach it other tricks." He captured her head and kissed her, engaging her tongue in another kind of battle.
When it ended, she clung to him, dazed. "You could blunt a tongue entirely that way."
He smiled, stroking her hair. "That's what I thought. But there are other ways." Sitting straighter, he dragged his tunic and shirt over his head, presenting a stunning, firelit torso, a sculpture of muscle. "Explore me with your clever tongue, Joan."
She reached for him, but he captured her hands, holding them on his thighs. "Just your tongue."
Her tongue stirred hungrily in her mouth as she studied him, already savoring the warmth, texture and taste. Broad chest, small, flat nipples, a trace of hair low down the middle, around his navel and lower...
His navel, just above the drawstring of his braies.
Slowly she leaned forward to circle it with her tongue, closing her eyes the better to savor the heat, the taste of sweat and salt, the texture of smooth skin and ticklish hair. She dipped her tongue into it and felt his ridged belly muscles shudder.
Oh, she liked that.
Deep inside, her body pulsed insistently in response.
She wavered for a moment, fearful of her own hunger. Of conquest and consequences. But then she remembered his oath, and she knew the Golden Lion would keep it.
Putting her mouth to his navel, she kissed it, feeling his hands tighten on hers, feeling her own hands clench on his thighs. She took her mouth away to blow on his wet skin, smiling at his shiver. Glancing up, she saw that he was leaning back, his eyes shut, lost in sensations she was creating.
Smile widening, she trailed her tongue lower, easing beneath the tied top of his braies. She felt him move and looked up a little nervously, wondering if she'd gone too far.
His eyes were open, meeting hers, heavy lidded. "If I wasn't feeling kind, I'd dare you to go further."
"I'm sure you know I can't resist a dare."
"I thought you were a very sensible virgin."
"You swore an oath, and I'm a very curious virgin. I've never seen..." To her annoyance, words escaped her then. "I can feel that you are... I mean..."
"Yes, I am." He released her hands and untied the cord that held his woolen garment up, then leaned back, leaving her to do as she wished.
With a bubble of excited anticipation and a wave of hot embarrassment, Joan lowered his braies.
Oh, my. She'd heard enough jokes and whispered stories to know what to expect, but she supposed most women saw this coming at them with intent. Presented to her like this, he was beautiful and she wanted to taste him.
"Tell me if I hurt you," she whispered, before touching her tongue to the tip of his rigid shaft.
She thought he laughed, though it might have been a groan. He was hard as rock, but like a rock warmed by the fireside then covered in silk. A musky smell teased at her, warm, comforting in some way....
Reason said other men were made much the same way, but she couldn't imagine feeling like this about another man.
He'd been right when he'd said her family would never permit such a marriage, even to the great Edmund de Graves. It would offend family loyalty too deeply.
What was to become of her?
Fighting away tears, she ran her tongue up and down him. When she brushed the ridge near the tip he jerked. She noted that and returned to tease.
"Does doing this disqualify me from the convent?" she wondered, contemplating the glistening, vulnerable tip.
"You don't have to tell them." He did sound breathless.
Arms resting on his tense thighs, she looked up. "What's going to happen if I keep doing this?"
"I'll spill my seed. You won't get pregnant unless I spill it in you."
"Do you like what I'm doing?"
His eyes crinkled. "No. But I liked what you were doing."
With a laugh, she said, "Tell me what you'd like even more. Give my sharp tongue power over you, Edmund de Graves."
"Don't say sharp to a man at a moment like this!" But he was teasing, and he suggested things. With a smile, she did them, aware with dazzled astonishment of him falling apart, exquisitely, trustingly vulnerable here at this moment with her.
When his breathing steadied and he opened his eyes, she said, "You're right. I'm not suited to a convent. This is too much power to give up."
He laughed and pulled her up for a ravishing kiss. Before she knew it, his hand was under her skirts, his mouth was at her cloth-covered breasts. When she arched and cried out, astonished by building sensations, he stilled his clever fingers and raised his skillful mouth. "The power goes both ways, Joan. Do you want me to stop now, before you turn to mindless wax in my hands?"
She shook her head. "Serve me. Give me what I want."
He laughed at her parry and obeyed, and who was to say who was the victor, who the vanquished at the end?
They lay together on the fur-covered ledge, and for Joan, at least, it was a time of strange adjustment. He'd taught her a lesson earlier about lust, but this had been a more potent one. The lesson she had learned here was that lust had a beauty of its own, and that she didn't want to live without it.
She wasn't prepared to say that she could only experience the beauty with this man, but she felt quite sure such harmony of desire was rare.
Yet to have him was almost impossible.
Their marriage was no more impossible than Nicolette and his brother, a part of her argued, and that would have to be, despite the enmity.
She couldn't give him up.
She couldn't!
She rose up on her elbow to trace his lips with her finger. "I want to marry you."
Those lips twitched. "I'm good, aren't I?"
She punched him on the shoulder for cocky arrogance. Justified, though.
He turned serious and caressed her face, brushing wild escaping curls off her cheeks. "I'd like to marry you, too, but I don't see how. Duty comes first. I'm determined to end this feud. At the very least, I cannot make matters worse and steal you away, too."
"If your brother and Nicolette are to be together—"
He laid fingers on her lips. "Gerald is not me. He is not the Lord of Mountgrave. He can move to one of my other estates and be out of sight. He won't have to constantly deal with Lord Henry over local and national matters."
"Lord Henry will never forget or forgive the loss of his beloved daughter, even if they move to Spain!"
He closed his eyes. "I know it. But our marriage would be daily salt in the wounds."
Joan straightened, frowning. "Then there's only one way. We have to end the feud."
"Willingly. Point the way."
"There's always a way."
"I wish I had your faith." He captured her and drew her down to him.
"As it is, all we have is now."
She didn't give up—there generally was a way if a person was determined enough—but certainly going around and around it now would be a waste of time.
Of precious time.
She slid out of his hands and off the ledge to remove his loose braies, taking deep pleasure in his long, muscular legs, only realizing then that she was down to her linen shift.
Yes, he was good.
When he was naked, she said, "Turn over. I want to explore your back."
He merely lay there. "Make me."
The resulting fight was a different kind of education to Joan, and equally enjoyable. She was like a child next to his strength, but he managed his power with control and was surprisingly vulnerable to tickles, so she ended up straddling his back, massaging his muscles, each flex of her spread thighs against him stirring her aching hunger.
Oh yes, she was hungry for him.
Famished.
Thank heavens, his oath could be trusted.
And curse it.
She thought he'd fallen asleep, but when she carefully eased off him, he turned and snared her, to stroke and suckle her into wild pleasure again. In fairness, she could only do the same for him, when they lay together talking, but carefully—not of anything connected to their troubles—till at last, they slept.
When she awoke, a glimmer of light around the curtain warning of dawn, she felt more starved than sated.
If he'd planned to teach her that she was a lusty woman, he had undoubtedly succeeded. She leaned up to feast upon him with tear-stinging eyes. Two of the lamps had spluttered out during the night, but by the dying flame of the third she could see bristles on his square chin. She ran her fingers tenderly over the roughness.
His eyes flicked open, smiling, but she thought she detected the same sadness behind them as ached in her. "We must return you to Woldingham, Joan."
"What of your brother?"
"Lord Henry won't murder him. I'll negotiate something."
"You'll exchange the banner for him?" With sudden hope, she realized that would end the feud.
He rolled on his back, arm over eyes. "How can I?"
"It's a piece of cloth. He's your brother!"
The concealing arm fell away. "It's my family's honor through four generations. Blood has been lost over it many times."
"And clearly more will be." She was determined not to scream at him, especially about things he must know perfectly well.
"I swore an oath," he said. "All the men of our family do at the time they become knights. An oath never to give up the banner to the de Montelans."
She shook her head. "And they swear an oath never to cease the fight to regain it. What madness it all is. All the same, when I'm back in Woldingham, I'll set your brother free. Somehow."
He gripped her shoulder. "I forbid it."
"If Uncle Henry won't kill your brother, he won't kill me."
His hand tightened. "He might not stop much short. Joan, for my sake, take no risks. The thought of you suffering weakens me."
She pulled free of his hand and stood. "The thought of you suffering weakens me, but I don't suppose it will stop you from fighting."
He sat straight up. "You are an unnatural woman!"
"So? I thought you liked that about me."
A wry smile chased away his frown. "My training is to control and protect you, Joan. It is the way of the world for men to fight and women to stay safe."
"Then why are you worried about what Uncle Henry will do to me?"
"It is also the way of the world for men to punish. You will not," he said, "try to rescue my brother."
"I'll not take unnecessary risks."
He gripped her arm. "You will take no risks!"
"And if your brother escapes," she continued, despite a scurrying heart, "he'd better take Nicolette with him."
"Joan!"
Though quivering, she met his angry eyes. "You can't control me, Edmund. I will do what I think best."
"You will put your foolish head in a noose."
"Why do you assume you are cleverer and more sensible than I am?" She tore free again and put distance between them. "I assure you, I no more want to be caught by Uncle Henry than you want that. I'll take no foolish risks. But if I see a chance to get them away safely, I will take it."
He pressed his hands to his face, then lowered them. "Promise me one thing."
"What?" she asked warily.
"If you get Gerald and Nicolette out of Woldingham, go with them. Do not stay to face your uncle's wrath. I'll see you safe back to your family."
"I'll try."
"Promise!"
"I promise to try!"
He glared at her. "If it's you or her, you'll stay to face the punishment."
"Isn't that what you would do?"
"That has nothing to do with it." Edmund stood to pull on his braies and knot the cord. He turned his back to do it.
Joan began to dress, too, not nearly as miserable as she ought to be. She'd enjoyed that battle of wills as much as she'd enjoyed their wrestling earlier, and she loved his obvious concern.
He was right. She was an unnatural woman.
She'd kept her shift through the night, but her other clothes were strewn around. As she collected them and put them on, she watched him dress, savoring his beauty.
He was hers. Deep inside, she knew it, even though she knew their happiness might be impossible. Such little time for so strong a bond, and yet it was there, tugging at her, already like a painful scar.
She knew he felt the same. That's why he was going to try to return her to Woldingham. It would put him in danger, and, even successful, would leave him in a weak position. He might have faith that Uncle Henry wouldn't torture his brother to death, but she wasn't entirely sure.
Joan pulled her tunic down over her head. "I think you should take me back to Mountgrave and arrange the exchange."
He turned to look at her. "That wasn't your plan."
"I've changed my mind. Your brother risks death."
"If it comes to that, I'll doubtless give up the banner for him. For his safety, and his marriage to Nicolette."
Joan should have felt enormous relief at that tidy solution to everything, but his anguish over it was obvious.
"Break your oath?" she whispered.
He sat to pull on low boots. "If he starts sending me my brother in pieces, what choice do I have?"
Joan put her hand to her mouth, sickeningly certain her uncle was capable of it. "But then—"
"Don't argue," he said curtly. "You'll waste time and tongue." He suddenly strode over and seized her, kissed her, putting her tongue to alternate use.
When he released her, she staggered, watching him go toward his armor, go toward becoming the Golden Lion, who was not for her. To the man who would risk his word and honor to give her the greatest chance of safety.
"This doesn't make sense!" she exclaimed.
He whirled. "Joan, you are the only innocent in all of this!"
"Innocent?"
"Gerald and Nicolette have committed sins both of stupidity and immorality. I pushed through this plan without truly thinking things through, and without involving my brother fully in it. This disaster is my fault."
Joan opened her mouth to argue, but he swept on. "You tried to help your cousin, and your plan was sound. If I'd not interfered, you'd be in no danger. Therefore you, at least, should come off safe. My honor demands it."
And there, she saw she was up against a wall as high and strong as those around both castles.
She went to help him into his armor, another thing she'd done for her brothers now and then. "My honor demands that I try to help you and my cousin."
He ignored her, and did without her help as much as possible.
As he put on iron embellished with gold, the change was completed. Her midnight friend and lover transformed into the Golden Lion, a creature of myth and glory—of another sphere.
Marriage? Had that
really been whispered in the night? It just proved how foolish nighttime whispers were. Even if there was no enmity between their families, such a great lord was not for her. He might as well be the Archangel Michael as far as she was concerned.
It had, after all, just been the night and the cave, but she wouldn't have missed it for her chance of heaven.
And she still thought they ought to go to Mountgrave and exchange her for his brother.
Chapter 5
As misty gray heralded dawn, they made their way down the steep hill toward flatter, more fertile ground. She was perched up behind Edmund on his big horse this time, hand in his belt. He only had padded cloth between himself and the horse, and the rope bridle, so they still moved quietly, except for the subdued rattle of armor. His sword was in its scabbard, but he carried his big shield on his arm, since he couldn't sling it on his back and had no saddle to hook it to. She couldn't help worrying that the weight must tire even him over time. She worried, too, that his right arm might have stiffened by now from her wound.
She smiled at her own ridiculous tendency to fuss over him like a mother with a delicate child. This was the Golden Lion, undefeated in tourney for many years.
For a while they moved through a misty world still silent as night, but then pink touched the sky and the first bird began to call. As the pearly light spread in the sky, Joan kept her ears alert for sounds of danger, as she was sure he was doing, but it was as if the hunt had ceased.
Here, at least.
She didn't know this countryside well, but she assumed that the deer paths he chose led to Woldingham, and if there were enemies about, that's where they'd be found.
Foolish man.
As when she'd been first captured, she thought of slipping off the horse to escape. It would be easier now since she rode behind him, but just as pointless. He'd capture her in seconds. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his mailed chest, hating the harshness between her and his flesh.
In the end, danger came abruptly, catching them in the worst possible place. Thor had just scrambled up the steep bank of a stream when four horsemen galloped along a nearby path.
Edmund immediately stilled the horse, and the men almost missed them. Then one glanced to the side and hauled his horse up, crying the alert.
