One Forbidden Knight

by Nicola Davidson

  Fortunately they weren’t far away from the inn, and Lucas and his men were already there. They dined in a private room for supper, generous in size and well scrubbed with freshly scented herbal water. The meal of thick beef and vegetable stew, chunks of brown bread and a light, fruity wine was also surprisingly excellent, but while he, Lucas, and the servants cleaned their plates, Catherine barely managed a few mouthfuls.

  Brand leaned closer to her. “Is the food not to your liking? Do you want me to order something else?”

  She gave him a wan smile. “The food is fine. I’m not especially hungry.”

  “Not hungry?” said Lucas, as though Catherine spoke in a foreign tongue. “Can’t believe it. Actually another thing I can’t believe, the sheer number of Blacksmiths in Guildford. Clearly too many long, cold nights in this town with naught to do but f— Ow! Who kicked me?”

  “Can’t imagine,” Brand said, with a warning glare.

  “Well,” said the lad, looking vastly offended, “I shall venture into the taproom and see if I can find out anything further under the guise of relieving ungodly card players of their ill-gotten gains. Anyone without unruly donkey limbs care to join me?”

  His men looked to him for permission, and he sent them away with a handful of groats and a stern warning against drunkenness or brawling. The last thing they needed was the townspeople hauling them away to the local noble magistrate.

  Catherine yawned delicately. “Oh, dear. Excuse me.”

  “It’s been a very long day. Shall I escort you to your chamber?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  He nodded and guided her from the room, up two sets of narrow wooden stairs and along a candle-lit hallway to the last door on the left. The chamber was small but clean, with a roaring fire, quilted bed, two wooden tables with lit candles atop, several iron hooks for clothing, and a screened-off corner probably containing a chamber pot and washing water. His satchel sat on the bed, an undershirt and Catherine’s nightgown spread out next to it.

  “I’ll take that,” he said quickly, stepping forward. “The innkeeper’s wife must have assumed we were married.”

  “Brand…”

  He turned his head, frowning at her unsteady tone, the way her hands were twisting her gown. “What’s wrong? You’ll be perfectly safe, I promise. Lock the door, and I’ll sleep outside on a pallet—”

  “Please…” she whispered. “Don’t leave me alone tonight.”

  His doublet suddenly too tight around his neck, Brand looked anywhere but at her. Another night with her so close? He couldn’t.

  “Catherine—”

  “I beg you.”

  “Damnation, I…very well. I’ll sit here, just until you fall asleep.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her cheeks pink. “Could you…also unlace me?”

  Swiftly, impersonally, not daring to linger, he withdrew his small boot dagger and cut the end of the ties binding her sleeves and sides then lifted the blue woolen gown over her head. The garment was thick with dust, the hem caked in mud, but she’d not complained once. Next he unfastened her corset, until it fell forward into her hands and she put it to one side.

  Snatching up the nightgown, Catherine disappeared behind the screen and soon he heard the small splashes of a hasty sponge bath.

  After removing his boots and cloak, Brand stretched out on top of the bed and closed his eyes as a powerful wave of weariness surged through him.

  “Does your head ache?” said Catherine, as she slid under the quilts beside him.

  “No, I’m fine. Rest now, you’ve earned it.”

  “All right. Good night, Brand.”

  “Good night.”

  How long he dozed, he wasn’t sure. But when he opened his eyes again, only one candle remained burning and the fire had halved in size. Yet he wasn’t cold. Mainly because, like the previous night in the tent, Catherine lay curled against him, one arm flung over his chest and her lush breasts pressed closely to his side.

  His cock hardened, throbbing painfully. He needed to get out of here or cool his raging blood at least. Carefully extracting himself from her embrace, Brand padded across the room to the screened corner, removed his doublet, undershirt and hose, and washed himself with the pleasantly tepid water. Unfortunately the slightly rough sponge around his cock did not have the desired effect, the light friction only making him harder.

  He groaned softly, reaching down and encircling his erection. The need to come was now an urgent, desperate thing, then perhaps he could sleep peacefully for the first time since he’d met Catherine Linwood. No other woman had affected him as much, her laughter, her tears, her frankness, the perfection of her body.

  Closing his eyes, he squeezed and rubbed as he remembered her rose-tipped breasts, the soft, dark hair between her thighs, the slick, swollen nub he’d played with until she screamed her pleasure…

  “Brand?”

  He jerked at the too-close soft voice, one hand bracing on the wall as he spun away.

  “Damnation,” he half snarled, half gasped, his hugely swollen cock nearly resting on his stomach. “What is the matter, Catherine?”

  “Are you all right? I heard sounds, and you weren’t on the bed.”

  “Fine. Just…bathing. I’ll be there soon.”

  There was a long, long pause, and he inhaled unsteadily. His cock was so painfully engorged that veins were visible even in this low light, and drops of moisture were trickling from the head to ease the path of his hand. Just a few more minutes would end the pulsing, unbearable ache.

  Go. Please, for the love of God, go.

  Yet instead of retreating footsteps, the next sound he heard was water dripping from a lifted sponge. Then it brushed softly against his back.

  Brand tensed, gritting his teeth.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought that might be obvious. Washing your back,” she replied, dragging the wet sponge up the length of his spine, across his shoulders, then down, down until it caressed the top of his backside.

  More warm seed spilled from his cock at the innocent torture. “Good. I’m fine,” he choked out eventually. “Thank you. Now go back to bed.”

  Again, the longest of pauses.

  “No,” she whispered, raising a cool hand to give him a gentle push. “Turn around.”

  Would he do it?

  Every part of her silently begged him to. Not even the fading light of the unstoked fire or single remaining candle disguised the beauty of his male body. She’d seen backs before, even partially uncovered limbs while assisting her father, but no masculine form compared to Brand’s huge, powerful shoulders, tight, flat buttocks, and strong, muscled legs.

  She squirmed at the dampness between her thighs, her nightgown chafing her peaking nipples like it was fashioned of sackcloth. Again, she pushed his shoulder, knowing she teased a lion and unable to stop herself.

  Brand swore, finally, slowly turning to face her.

  Oh.

  Riveted, she stared at his brawny chest, lightly dusted with dark hair that nearly covered two flat, pale brown male nipples. No extra fat marred the sculpted lines of his abdomen, but that was naught in comparison to the magnificence of the long, thick male part resting against his palm. It stood nearly upright from a nest of black hair, pale-colored moisture coating the hugely swollen head as well as his fingers.

  One wayward finger reached out and halted.

  “May I…” she swallowed, finally meeting his molten emerald gaze. “May I touch it?”

  One tiny jerk of his head gave her permission. Emboldened, she stepped closer and stroked him from base to tip, marveling at the hardness, the smoothness of the skin, the silky texture of his seed.

  He groaned. “Catherine…”

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No. Just torturing me.”

  “What should I do?”

  “To be fair and equal, be as naked as I am.”

  A grim smile twitched her lips. Tonight she did
n’t feel like a virginal physician’s daughter on the run from the queen’s soldiers, but a woman needing the man who’d dominated her thoughts, her heart, since the day they met.

  Untying the front ribbon of her nightgown, she let the garment fall to the floor. His indrawn breath and slow, greedy appraisal of her body a reward for the daring act.

  “And now, Brand?”

  “Take my cock in your hands and stroke it. Like this,” he said, wrapping her hands tightly around the length of him and moving them back and forth.

  Eagerly she complied, exulting in his choked sighs and incoherent words as he thrust against her fingers. Wanting to get closer, she dropped to her knees and leaned in, brushing the lightest of kisses across the tip.

  He froze and she lifted her head, uncertain. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, so raggedly she felt another rush of moist heat between her legs. “It feels very, very good when a man has his cock kissed. Or licked. Or sucked. If you wish to, do what you will.”

  “I wish to,” she replied, darting her tongue out to taste the musky wetness there.

  “God, yes. Like that, Carey. So good.”

  His gruff praise warmed her to the soul, and lifting her gaze to his, she deliberately held it while taking the wide head of his erection into her mouth. Brand’s harsh breaths echoed through the room as she sucked gently, then more firmly, taking him a little deeper and hollowing her cheeks while her fingers teased the underside of his shaft.

  “Sweetheart. Carey. Yes, darling. Damn, I’m going to…”

  Abruptly a guttural roar tore from the very depths of him, and he jerked his erection from her lips, long streams of warm liquid splashing her breasts and belly, his other hand gripping her shoulder while his body spasmed.

  For the longest moment Brand stood like that, his eyes closed and head tilted back, as though a thousand miles away. Then he met her gaze, and the fire there seared her to the core.

  Catherine shivered. “Are you going to—”

  “Wash you? Yes. Kiss and lick and suck every inch of your beautiful body? Yes. But it won’t be swift, Carey. I won’t be merciful. Perhaps when dawn comes, when your sweet cream drenches my fingers, and you beg me for release, I may grant it to you. We shall see.”

  Unable to speak, enthralled by the dark promise of the words, she took his offered hand and got to her feet. Slowly, far too slowly, he washed his seed from her skin. The herbed water wasn’t cold, but she shuddered at the contrast on her too-hot flesh, the way the slightly rough sponge grazed her hardened nipples, her belly, the curls between her legs. Soon he discarded the sponge, instead using two fingers to tease her wet flesh.

  She gripped his shoulder and sighed, back arching in shock when the fingers slid gently inside her. Quickly he bent his head, taking one nipple into his mouth to suck while starting a rhythm of advance and retreat between her legs certain to steal her wits.

  “Please,” she begged, as the delicious tingling feeling started low in her belly. “Harder.”

  “You’re so slick here, Carey. So hot,” he rasped. Then he stopped.

  “Brand!”

  He didn’t reply, just scooped her into his arms and placed her in the center of the bed with her feet dangling over the end. Before she had time to think, he knelt between her spread thighs and bent down to claim her mouth, overwhelming her with his hunger.

  “Brand,” she gasped, tearing away. “I don’t know how.”

  “Your body does. Listen to it,” he replied, but this time his kiss was gentler, coaxing, imploring her to open to him.

  Enraptured, she didn’t even feel his hand move until two fingers surrounded one tender nipple and lightly pinched. She writhed, moaning as he did it again and again, alternating with a teasing lick. “No,” she sobbed, mindless with need. “Touch me properly.”

  “Where?”

  “There,” she said, a flailing hand gesturing between her legs.

  Brand moved down the bed, and breathlessly she waited for the relief of his fingers stroking, delving inside her. Instead, his lips brushed her inner thigh and trailed upward.

  Her hands grasped the sheets tightly.

  Surely he wouldn’t.

  Oh please, let him.

  At the first lash of his tongue across her heated core, she attempted to close her legs, the rush of acute pleasure too much to bear. But he was relentless, one shoulder wedging her thighs wide as he lapped and sucked the swollen nub beneath her nether curls, and plunged his tongue deep inside her soaked, aching channel.

  She cried out.

  “Should I stop?” he teased.

  “Nooooo,” she wailed, lifting and circling her hips, wanting to claw his back bloody for tormenting her when she craved him so desperately. “Hurry. More. Please.”

  Brand stilled and lifted his head.

  “Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, almost angrily. “Do you, Carey? Because once my cock is buried inside you, there is no going back. You will belong to me, body and soul, for always.”

  Catherine cupped his cheek. “And you’ll belong to me. Won’t you?”

  “God help you,” he bit out. “Yes. When we’re back in London, I will find a vicar—”

  “A priest.”

  “Someone to marry us.”

  She laughed, as momentarily all the darkness, her sadness and fear, were banished by pure joy. “Then make me yours, Brand. For always.”

  “In my library you said fast. What about now?”

  “The same,” she said softly, closing her eyes and grasping the quilt to ready herself.

  “No, Carey. Open your eyes.”

  Brand braced himself on his knees and elbow. One hand laced fingers with hers, the other took his erection and fitted it to her entrance. Seconds later he thrust hard and she muffled a shriek at the tearing pain.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he murmured over and over, utterly still inside her, his taut shoulders and sheened temples revealing the control he exercised.

  “It is better now,” she whispered and, although she felt overwhelmingly stretched and full, it was.

  He began to move, inching inside her then withdrawing, reaching down to fit her legs around his hips. The change in angle allowed a deeper penetration, and she moaned as their slick bodies slid and rubbed together, the promise of ecstasy so close she could almost taste it. Writhing, pleading, she ground herself against Brand and at last waves of bliss surged through her body. But Brand didn’t stop, just kept thrusting faster and harder, ensuring it continued on and on until finally he gasped her name, his huge body shaking as his seed gushed deep inside her. His weight was near-crushing as he collapsed on top of her, but she held him tightly, stroking his hair and crooning nonsense words. For hours they loved and rested, until dawn’s uncaring rays forced themselves through the small windows. Securely wrapped in Brand’s arms under the quilts, ignoring the soreness between her legs, a single tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto his chest.

  The most perfect night of her life.

  And now a day of reckoning.

  Chapter Six

  “Brand! Stop looking at me like that. I simply cannot, er…”

  He grinned at Carey’s rosy cheeks, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching her perched on the end of the bed and attending to her hair, like a husband might do. “Thanks to a certain insatiable angel, I can’t either. Not so much as a drop left.”

  “Brandon FitzAlan.”

  “Ah, so that is how it shall be, hmm? Not even waiting until we are wed to be a scold?” he said, pulling on his boots and ducking just in time to avoid an airborne wooden comb. “Anyway, a man is well within his rights to admire his betrothed.”

  Betrothed.

  It shouldn’t feel so right when they’d only known each other for a few weeks, when they could be torn apart at any given moment, but it did. It felt right like nothing else in his world.

  Fully unraveling his thoughts and emotions regarding C
arey had been nigh on impossible at his home, even on the journey here. Strangely enough, it had taken succumbing to his basest needs, his guiltiest sin for all to become clear. But he had come to care deeply for this woman and would give up all he had, and then some, for her happiness. Should anyone try and harm her again, well they would swiftly learn the true meaning of hell unleashed. Arthur Linwood had cherished and protected Carey for the first twenty years of her life; Brand FitzAlan would do so for the rest. No longer would she be afraid or alone, and as his wife she would have all she desired and more.

  Carey snorted and secured her plaited hair into a coil at the nape of her neck, then settled a simple hood on her head.

  “There is very little to admire at the moment. I’ve sponged and brushed my gown twice already, but it still looks like I’ve been dancing in a mud puddle. And my hair…oh, what I wouldn’t give for a few of Papa’s soaps right now. He had a special recipe and would add different oils to scent. I especially loved the rose or lemon.”

  “You shall have dozens of soaps. And new gowns. I’ll order so many bolts of silk and velvet that merchants will line up for miles to befriend you. Then you’ll need to select fur trims and hoods, the softest linen nightgowns, stockings, petticoats, pairs of shoes, necklaces and brooches—”

  Her eyes widened so far he thought they might pop out of her head. “No! That will cost a fortune.”

  “I am a wealthy man, Carey,” he said quietly. “Very wealthy. Not many people are aware, as unlike most at court it is not something I flaunt, but between the inheritance from my grandfather, the lands I hold, and more recently, the gifts from my noble father, you shall want for nothing.”

  “I want you, not your bags of coins. Although I cannot wait to see your country estate and meet your mother. She sounds a wonderful lady.”

  “She is to me what Arthur was to you. Now, do you want anything else to eat?” he said, gesturing to the remains of their breakfast. Wanting to prolong their time alone, he’d ordered the meal of chicken broth, bread with honey, and sweet ale brought early to their chamber.

  Carey’s smile dimmed, the fingers of both hands twisting together as she stood. “No. Much as I wish to stay safe and warm in this room with you, we need to find the Blacksmiths as soon as possible.”