Under Your Spell
© 2010 Original Copyright by Shiloh Walker
Reissued 2019
All Rights Reserved.
Cover Design Shiloh Walker
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Shiloh Walker
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Under Your Spell
Shiloh Walker
Chapter One
The first time they had seen each other she had been striding, naked, out of the water of the lazily flowing stream, her gilt-edged hair sleeked back from her lovely face, leaving it unframed. Such a face, heart-shaped, with a pink, soft mouth, big round blue eyes, a small, delicate nose. She should have looked fragile.
Few women he knew moved like she did, so confident, so easily, with her arms swinging freely at her sides. Her head was up, hair flowing in wet streams down her back, shoulders and back straight, displaying that lovely naked body so casually.
His mother and sister, they…flowed. Like a billowing cloud across the sky in their fine silks and satins, making nary a sound unless they meant to, as they went about their business in the manor.
The serfs scurried and dashed, heads down, hands busy, as they sought to keep their lord and lady happy with them.
Men strode.
Women did not.
But this one did, her blue eyes full of pride and dignity and humor. No fear, not even embarrassment at being caught bathing nude, something that should have had her blushing and running for cover. No woman of morals…
Her eyes met his at that exact moment and a smile curved her lips, as she paused for only the briefest of moments, lifting one brow at him, her blue eyes meeting his before continuing on to her clothes, using a length of cloth to dry herself before donning her shift.
Whatever do morals have to do with needing a bath?
Nicholas blinked as the random thought ran through his head, almost like it wasn’t his thought.
A woman like no other he had ever seen.
No, she did not appear at all fragile.
She looked like a pagan goddess. Confident, aware, sensual.
Through the damp, thin cloth, he could see the rise of her hard, pouting nipples, the flat of her belly, her sweetly flared hips, the mound of her sex, covered by wispy curls of gold. His cock raged to rampant life and he ground his teeth, hating that he was tempted to go to her, take her to the ground and bury his rod in that body. She was young, she was common. He was a lord and this was his family’s land. He had every right—she was here, flaunting herself at him…
It was that very thinking that had led him to despise the nobility he had been born into.
How many broken young women had he seen cast out of their homes because some noble man forced his child on her? Raped her, abused her, and impregnated her? Then her family turned her out and left her to starve.
And here he was wanting to bury his rigid flesh in this sweet young thing’s womanhood, all because she walked naked out of his family’s stream. What harm was there in her taking a swim? Hadn’t he often done the same?
Ah, but she was lovely.
Nicholas hated that he had to clear his tight throat before he could even speak. “You trespass on Montgomery land,” he said slowly.
“Forgive me, my lord. I wanted only to take a bath. Such a lovely stream,” the girl said,, sliding him a look from under a fringe of heavy golden eyelashes.
He arched a brow at her and said, “‘Tis not safe for a woman to be alone in the forest, much less a naked woman.” He lowered his brows, his voice stern, arrogant, and she should have been utterly cowed.
She smiled serenely. “I can take care of myself, my lord,” she said confidently. Her bright blue eyes all but sparkled with laughter.
If only that were true, Nicholas wished bleakly. “There are bandits, I fear, preying upon our people, especially our women. We have captured a few, but not all. It is not safe. Come, I will escort you home.”
A tiny, cold smile graced the woman’s face. “I say it again, I can take care of myself, my lord,” she repeated, moving gracefully out of his reach, pulling her simple gown over her head and easily lacing it up on her own. Seating herself on a rock, she reached for her slippers and put them on, humming under her breath, ignoring him.
“I will escort you home,” he said firmly. He had not wanted to do it this way—he had always been very careful how he used his abilities. Mother had taken great care that he understand that. He could coerce a great many people to do a great many things, and had.
Many of those impregnated young women would never know why the fathers of their bastard children suddenly appeared to offer money, a home, food, everything the child could ever need.
And he would coerce this woman to let him escort her home. Ridiculous, surely, but she would not listen to an order from a lord, and he would not risk seeing another broken, battered corpse.
So as he spoke, he inflicted his will upon her. From experience, he knew his grass-green eyes would be glowing, though the woman would never remember that. He knew she would be unable to resist, that she would docilely follow him home, and would obey his unspoken command to not wander alone again.
Again, he said, voice throbbing, echoing with power, “I will escort you home.”
“No. You will not,” she said just as firmly, her sweet voice stubborn, insistent, her wide blue eyes lifting from the ground to meet his.
Nicholas nearly fell on his ass.
Those blue eyes, as blue as the summer sky, glowed hot and clear, swirling and sparking. She rose from the rock she had sat on, her hair blowing back from her face by an unseen wind, her heart-shaped face glowing as if from within. Hair that had just been sopping wet was now completely dry and falling in thick curls around her shoulders as that unseen wind continued to blow.
“Oh, look what we have here—another witch,” she exclaimed as she clapped her hands twice, looking as pleased as a child with a toy. Her lush, pink mouth curved in a smile and she laughed brightly. She gave him a conspiratorial wink and added, “And in the revered Montgomery family, too.”
Then the laughter died from her eyes as she held out one hand and a light sparked there. No, not a light, Nicholas realized, a ball of fire. It grew and grew until he could feel the heat. It was real, not an illusion. He could conjure illusion. His mother could as well. So could his sister.
But they couldn’t call true fire. Their magic was not of that nature. Such wild, free magic was something so few witches could do.
She banished the flame and the power, the wind died, her dry hair floated down to curl wildly around her face. “I can take care of myself, my lord, I promise you that. And I know of the bandits. They are why I am here.”
Settling down on the rock, she drew her knees up to her chest, smoothing her skirts over them, and then resting her chin on her knees, staring back into the water. “The last woman you found w
as my sister, my lord Montgomery,” she said softly, her soft blue eyes going dark and haunted. “And they will die for what they did to her. I swear it.”
The low, insistent throb of her voice struck a chord in his heart as he stared down into her somber face. Once more, her eyes started to glow and she murmured in an echoing voice, “They will pay.”
Chapter Two
Her name was Aislinn.
She was enchanting.
She was intoxicating.
She was forbidden.
She was irresistible.
She was passionate. When she spoke of her murdered sister, her voice throbbed and heated with a need for justice that Nicholas knew he could not deny her. But he would find it for her, he assured her.
He could not. She had to do it herself, she had said.
And he had given in. How had she convinced him?
Ah, but she was lovely and winsome, more than any woman he had ever seen, with her laughing eyes and glowing smile. And then, quick as a blink of the eye, the laughter would fade, and such sorrow would fill her eyes, and he knew she thought of the battered and beaten body of her sister, the last lifeless body he had found.
And he could not deny her need for justice and vengeance.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. But sometimes it came in human form, Nicholas believed. In witch form, as he studied the young, determined woman in front of him as she laid out her plan. It could work. She knew where they had made camp. She had tried drawing them out as she bathed, but he had come instead.
But their camp…she knew where to find it.
She would not tell him, but she would allow him to join her, help her.
It could work. They could stop them.
And he wouldn’t have to find another lifeless, battered woman. Or even worse, look into the empty, lifeless eyes of a woman who had survived their attack—yet still her heartbeat.
Nicholas knew, even as he followed her into the woods, that this was dangerous. Witch or no, she was a woman. She could fall, hit her head and pass out. Unconscious, her magic would be of no use.
But he would let no harm befall her.
And the bandits terrorizing his lands had to be stopped.
The sheriff’s men had been of no help.
His father’s men had tried, but Nicholas suspected one of them was a bloody traitor. He had intended to question each of them on their last return, only half of them had not returned. He believed one of them had only pretended to be dead and had in fact joined his new friends.
His eyes stayed on the bright banner of her golden curls. Such impossible colors there, some nearly silvery-gold, some nearly the color of gold coins, others almost butter-yellow. He recalled, too, the color of the hair covering her sex, a soft mellow gold, covering sweet, tender pink flesh.
Beneath the simple green wool of her gown, her hips swayed back and forth, her every move a subtle call to him. Nicholas had to clench his teeth and stifle a moan when she turned and glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling her little feline smile, her eyes filled with secrets and magic.
She moved through the forest like some sort of spirit, making nearly no sound, pausing from time to time to just…listen. He suspected she was listening with something other than her ears. He could sense some strange sort of power flowing from her as she stood there, her hair caressing her face in the soft breeze, her large blue eyes half-closed, her pink lips parted.
Nicholas could not stop himself.
Covering the distance between them, he covered that sweetly parted mouth with his, waiting for her to push him away. Instead, her small, surprisingly strong hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer. Nicholas moved his hands down her narrow back, gripping her waist and pulling her small body close to his, groaning when he felt her firm breasts against his chest, his cock cuddling against her soft belly through the layers of cloth that separated them.
He slowly thrust his tongue inside her mouth, finding a taste like honey and mead and sex, heady and addictive. His chest, hard, warm, and firm crushed against her and Aislinn made a soft, startled sound in her throat, her head falling back, before she shyly moved her tongue against his. At the same time, she rocked her hips, caressing his shaft as she slid her hands up his neck to bury her fingers in his hair, fisting and holding there.
He trailed one hand up her side to cup her breast, finding her nipple already hard and pouting and firm. Quickly, he freed the laces of her gown, shoving the cloth to her waist as he pulled away to nibble on her lip, her chin, down her neck and collar bone, his hands closing over her narrow waist, lifting her up so that he could feast on those pretty breasts.
She made a startled cry when his hot mouth closed over one pink, pouting nipple, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, bringing her sex into direct contact with his cock, their bodies separated by only a few thin shields of cloth.
Aislinn whimpered when he swirled his tongue over her nipple before biting it gently. His mouth…so hot, so fierce, so wondrous. She was absently aware that he was removing more of their clothing. But his hands, those magical hands, were moving over her body and creating trails of fire everywhere he touched.
And his mouth…he pulled his mouth away from her nipple, kissing his way down her torso, her belly as he dropped to his knees, setting her on the ground, and his lips and tongue left little trails of fire everywhere he touched. Catching her behind one knee, he lifted it and draped it over his shoulder and put his face between her thighs. Right against her sex, and he smelled her, lifting his face briefly to look up at her and say, “Such a sweet thing you are.” Then he licked her, using two fingers to open her folds, licking her slowly.
His long, black hair fell around his wide, golden shoulders, spilled past a rather magnificent chest. A flat belly, narrow hips, and the long heavy thighs of a knight who was used to battle—he was so beautiful. He looked like one of God’s own angels, with his narrow, lean face, high, arched black brows, a sculpted mouth, and large intelligent green eyes.
But considering what he was doing, pressing his face against her sex, nuzzling her, kissing her, his unclothed body kneeling in front of her naked one, perhaps she should be thinking of Lucifer rather than the highest Angel in heaven.
She cried out when she felt the wet swipe of his tongue, but she absolutely screamed when his teeth found that one little spot she had discovered last year, that hard little bump that would drive her mad when she stroked it. He stroked it. He licked it. He bit it. Then Nicholas stroked it some more with his tongue, tenderly at first and then faster and faster until she was rocking her hips urgently against his mouth and whimpering and pleading.
Aislinn fell and he caught her, taking her to the ground and lying on her on their discarded clothes, before returning to his place between her thighs. He entered her with his tongue now, and she moaned weakly. Using his fingers, he pumped them in and out, first one and then two, slowly at first, and then faster until she was screaming and moaning and pleading for something she didn’t even understand, sobbing out, “Please, please!” as he pumped his fingers harder and faster inside her.
Nicholas stared up the length of her body at her sweet face flushed with passion, her eyes glittering brightly, blindly, her tongue dampening her lush, swollen mouth. Her breasts moved rapidly as she tried to catch her breath, the dark pink nipples drawn into tight little buds, her sweetly rounded little belly and hips, and the silky curls that covered her sex. He fixed his gaze there, watching as he pushed two fingers back inside her wet passage, the tight, silky walls closing over him. The pink, tender flesh was hot, slippery with her cream and softer than the finest of silks.
She had made no protest, none, at anything he had done. No virgin was likely to let him taste her with nary a complaint.
But she was tight, and so sweet, and she had been so startled when he had kissed her, both her mouth and her womanhood. The sweet, spicy taste of her cream was intoxicating. Whoever had taken her first had done a poor job of it, he de
cided as he moved atop her, spreading her legs as he mounted her. He would show her what it was like to be loved, and loved well. He would not hurt her, and perhaps…perhaps he could even keep her.
Her sweet, wet passage closed over the head of his cock and he had to grit his teeth to keep from driving ruthlessly inside her. She made a soft distressed sound and he lowered his head and kissed her deeply, sharing the sweet, addictive taste of her own body, as he slowly forged his way deeper inside her, reaching down and lifting her hips up.
When he came to her maidenhead, he froze.
Bloody hell.
He jerked up, staring down at her in shock, while his body, his heart and soul clamored that he finish, that he mark and claim her for always. Always? This girl he had just met?
Impossible…part of him whispered.
Destiny…
“You have not lain with a man before,” he said roughly, his chest heaving, muscles gleaming with a light coat of sweat.
“No,” she gasped, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
He was hurting her, Nicholas realized. Lowering his head, he kissed her eyes, licked away the tears that fell, soothing her gently, strapping down the urges inside him. He wanted to drive and plunge inside her. But this sweet young virgin…he had no right. “I can stop now, and no harm will be done,” he offered. It would be the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, to withdraw now, when she hugged the first few inches of his cock so sweetly and tightly, wet and soft as silk.
Aislinn glared up at him. “If you stop now a great deal of harm will be done, and all of it to you. I will do it to you,” she told him, squirming underneath him, clenching her inner muscles around him.
“Are you certain? This cannot lead to anything between us,” he said, groaning and closing his eyes as she caressed his flesh with hers. “I can offer only this.”
“Please, my lord,” she whimpered, rocking up.
“Nicholas,” he whispered, against her ear, lowering his body to hers, feeling the soft push of her breasts against his chest, the silky wet heat that held only the first few inches of his cock. “When we are together, I am Nicholas. You are Aislinn. Not my lord or my lady. Nicholas.”
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