Betrothed (24 page)

“I
thought you might appreciate something other than the sickroom fare Maisie
planned for your recovery.” The color returned to her cheeks.

“What
did you bring for me?” he asked again about the contents of her parcel.

She
warned a curious mutt away from worrying Jaffey, who remained vigilant. The
motion reminded Donovan of the dogs’ purpose. They provided protection. He
uttered a one-word command and with a few hand-signals, he put them all on
silent sentry.
Blessed be Felix
.

She
watched in fascination as each dog assumed a post. “How did you do that? 
They were rambunctious for me but they were determined to find you.”

“Training
and practice. They are on guard now. Should an intruder approach, we’ll be well
warned.”

After
appraising the ground around them, Isabeau decided on their picnic spot, and
began laying out their provisions. He couldn’t resist the urge to tease her as
he observed the quantity. “Did you not say you brought only enough food for
two?  I would venture to say you could feed my entire barracks.” He
laughed when she
blushed.                      

“I
thought to take the opportunity for us to speak in private.” She was looking
down but handed him a meat pie.

He
made an exaggerated survey of the brook and small glen. “You have succeeded in
privacy. Of what do you wish to speak?”

“I
would avoid causing you more displeasure.”

He
swallowed the hearty bite of pie. “Are you asking what makes me angry, so that
you will not do them?”

“That
is one concern.” She nodded.

“When
have you brought me displeasure?”

Isabeau
licked her lips. “I spoke of… Of your losses, and the next time we met, your
kindness to me was gone. I apologize for intruding on your grief. I only meant
to bring you comfort.”

He
stretched out his hand to caress her jaw with the back of his fingers. “I
assure you. My mood had naught to do with you. You have brought only balm to my
bruised spirit. I would we wed on the morrow.”

She
had arched her back into his touch like a kitten but she hissed in air at his
question. “Shhhh! Tomorrow is too soon.”

“I
know that I rushed you away from your home with no time to prepare for a
wedding, but everything you need you will find at Bennington.”

She
waved her right hand in the air and Donovan was thankful that a goblet was not
close at hand. “I have all that I need. T’is not that.”

“Then
why?” He didn’t stifle his impatience.

“I
do not yet carry your babe.”

“It
matters not. Your belly will swell with my seed as God wills it.”

“But
what if I cannot?  That is why… I will not have you trapped.”

“You
said this before. Do you have a plan?”

“Aye.”
Pink splashes colored Isabeau’s cheeks as she closed her eyes. She took a
breath before re-opening them and looking directly into his gaze.
“ ‘Tis
why I followed you.”

She
took another deep breath but he was the one not prepared for her rush of words.

“I
wished privacy when I set about to seduce you.”

He
could hear Carstairs’ mocking voice whispering over his shoulder.
Put us out
of your misery. Give the girl what she wants
.
       

Isabeau
stared at her betrothed, not sure who appeared more shocked—Donovan because of
her bold behavior or herself because she had actually found the courage to make
the demand.

“Undo
the ribbons on your bodice.” He spoke in no more than a husky whisper. He
brushed just his forefinger along the curve of her breasts. Beneath the linen
of her tunic, her nipples hardened. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment but
this was what she had asked for. Donovan had already seen her body. She had
nothing left to hide.

She
searched his face but couldn’t interpret his expression or the light that
burned in the depths of his blue eyes. What did it mean?  Did he think her
a trollop?

Isabeau
inhaled a ragged breath as she lifted a trembling hand to the top bow.
  “You wish -- now?”

“Aye.
Is that not your idea?”

She
nodded. She couldn’t help searching the trees.

“As
you said, we have the privacy and I wish to see you in the warmth of the
sunlight… Unless you have no wish to join with me,” he said with a coldness
that formed gooseflesh on her arms.

“I
have but one thing to ask of you, my lord.” She could feel heat spread up her
throat to her cheeks. She resumed undoing the fastening of her bodice down to her
girdle. Her trembling fingers held the garment together. She curved her
shoulders, not yet quite ready to reveal her nakedness.

“There
is no need of such formality between us. My given name is Donovan. I have asked
you to use it, especially when I am deep inside you.” A grim smile curved his
mouth.

Was
he teasing her?

If
possible, her color deepened and he laughed. The sound had a rusty quality. “I
never thought to ever laugh when speaking of the marriage bed. What magic do
you yield?”

Perhaps
he
was
teasing.

“What
boon do you ask of me?”

She
swallowed and noticed him staring at her throat. Did he watch the flutter of
her heating blood in her there? 

“That
night the shadows and…” She licked her dry lips as she searched for words. “The
shadows and your sorcery blinded me. I wish to see you in the light as well.”

“You
want to see me?”

Isabeau
could only nod.

“Marta
closed her eyes whenever I visited her chamber. She could not countenance the
evidence of my battles. She would have preferred to refuse me.”

Though
his face remained stoic, she felt the pain of his wife’s rejection. She reached
out as if with a touch would ease the hurt. He sat back on his heals before her
fingers reached his jaw.

His
gaze intent, he watched her as he silently removed his belt and lay it aside.
He loosened the leather thong crisscrossing his neck opening. She had not
realized she held her breath until he crossed his arms to tug his tunic over
his head.

“Your
courage humbles me, my lady.”

“My
courage?”

“Aye.”
His crooked smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How much more difficult it must have
been for you—to bare your body before a man—a stranger at that—for the first
time.”

Then
something changed in the depths of his eyes. A dark storm was beginning to brew
beneath the surface.

He
smoothed the blanket she had spread for the picnic then fanned his shed tunic
before letting it flutter to the blanket. Fascinated with this action, she was
caught unprepared when his hand curved around her ankle.

“Now,
my sweetling, let me see.” Donovan gently pulled her closer atop his draped
tunic. “The moss does not have the comfort of my bed, but I would not have you
bruised on any rocks.” He pushed a stray tendril behind her ear, trailing his fingers
tantalizingly down her jaw. He rested his warm palm at the throat.

“Are
you comfortable?”

A
shiver of anticipation gripped her but she could only nod.

“I
ask again. Do you not want to wait for Father Matthias’ blessing?”

For
her answer, she slowly opened her chemise to reveal the valley between her
breasts. The intense light of desire in his eyes gave her the courage to let
the linen spread wider. When she hesitated, the growl emanating from his throat
caused her to inhale quickly.

His
bare chest distracted her. She soon became engrossed in the inventory of his
every tendon and muscle, his every battle scar. Her eyes followed the line of
every white mark, every pink pucker that marred his skin. “Your chest…” She
licked her lips before her teeth captured the tip of her tongue.

“I
am not as pretty as you.”

She
let loose of her bodice with her right hand as she reached out to stroke the
mat of midnight hair on his chest, tracing a scar along his collar bone then
moved to another much closer. The beat of his heart purred beneath her fingers,
touching off an answering rhythm in her own breast. The white tissue of old
scars knotted his skin. When he winced at her touch, she pulled away as if
burned by fire.

 “You
have so many scars.” Tears burned her eyes.

“Do
you find my body monstrous?”

“Nay.”

“But
you weep?”

“For
your pain. I see your scars—evidence of too many wounds. Who tended them? 
It frightens me that you seem to have a wish to die on the battlefield—a wish
that causes you to fail to guard yourself. What can entice you stay in this
world?”

“You.”
At his brusque answer, she lifted her eyes to his dark blue gaze.

“I
am yours.”

He
bent over her supine form and rested his lips on hers. His fingers began the
tracery of her shoulder and moved quickly to her breasts, circling first one
nipple then the other. His mouth repeated the same exploration of her lips,
coaxing her mouth open so that his tongue could forge into her. The intimate
kiss pulled at her core, tempting her to enter the duel.

Before
she was prepared, his mouth ceased the kiss. When she would have protested the
desertion, he initiated the exploration of her neck, moving quickly to her
exposed cleavage.

Then
he was suckling her breast. Isabeau’s raised her hands instinctively frame his
face.

“Is
this the first time your nipples have ever been kissed by the sun?” Even as he
spoke, they watched her nipples bead tighter. He tugged the bodice from beneath
her and tossed it on the ground next to her straw bag.

She
tried to savor the touch of her betrothed. To enjoy his tasting of her. To
inhale his unique masculine scent—a combination of leather, soap and pure
Donovan. To listen to the music of his passionate murmurs.

Her
litany did no good. She was too conscious of the building storm within her own
body. The way her lungs fought to drag in air. The way her heart thundered in
her ears.

They
were alone—in the middle of the forest. No one could hear her sing out her joy
at his touch. She had no need for silence as she had in his chamber. She
whimpered when his mouth left her breast. Somehow, her skirts were raised and
he had divested himself of his clothing.

She
saw all of him. His man parts were unexpected but she was not frightened. Should
she touch him? She raised her hand, but before she knew, he lay beside her,
stroking her thigh.

Raking
her fingers through the mat of silky chest hair, she found his nipples,
tickling them with her tongue, making him groan. Did it feel the same as when
he suckled her? Would his hair below feel silky, too?

“Your
woman’s heat overpowers the wild blossoms framing your head.”

She
blushed. Who would have thought her warrior would be a poet.

“You
are more beautiful than I can say, spread out as you are before me.”

She
arched her back, offering her breasts, tight with desire, taunting his mouth
with their hardened tips. He cupped her breast and gently squeezed. Her skin
was so sensitive the merest friction caused her nerves to twang. Isabeau rolled
her head.

“Your
silky skin is softer than the imported silk I plan to give you as a bridal
gift.”

He
pushed his leg between hers, and raised his hand to touch her as he had that
night in his room. A wanting built inside her as he stroked; then his fingers
were inside and the wanting built.

She
wiggled against him, rubbing her body against his. She tried to think; tried to
remember Blanche’s instructions. She tried to lie still—‘twas essential to hold
Donovan’s seed in her body—to give his essence time to find purchase in her
womb. Her nails bit into his shoulders. She would not scar him further but
failed to loosen her hold.

It
was impossible. She writhed, their bodies a sea of pricking neediness where
they touched. In a heartbeat, mayhap two, she would be lost. Desire drew his
features taut. Fiery passion blazed in the midnight blue of his eyes.

Mon Dieu
.
She attempted to recite a prayer but her Latin was gone. She tried to remember
her duty but failed when he entered at last.

A
tiny pain. Then suddenly she went flying, shattering silently. She pulled his
head down to her face, thoroughly pinned by his weight. Her hips arched towards
Donovan. Her motion reinforced his vigor and he thrust again and again, deeper
and deeper with such force, that he lifted her from their bed of moss.

Donovan
gave her his life-affirming seed. She screamed aloud at last and he was her
echo. The combined sound caused one of the hounds to begin to bay. She thought
Donavan gave the command for silence before he collapsed atop of her.