Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment (14 page)

“Really?” she breathed, and moved more fully against him. He hissed in a breath, and she could feel the thick length of him against her breast. She closed her eyes, parting her lips for the briefest of seconds, remembering the delicious feel of him inside her. Her eyes flew open and she cried out when his hands yanked her up and she found herself straddling his good leg in a most unladylike manner, his lips hovering above her. Their breaths were warm, the air was warm, and their skin was warm.

“Do not toy with me, madame. Continue with your play and you will find yourself on your back with your skirts pushed up and me buried to the hilt in you.”

Her pulse quickened. ’Twas what she wanted! She gasped at her wanton thought. Her eyes locked with his. She licked her dry lips. He growled, pulling her closer to him. His manhood pressed against her belly and his bare thigh pushed against her wet opening. She bit back a moan, and steeled herself, fighting the overwhelming desire this man instilled in her. His fingers dug into her arms. “’Tis actions such as that, Tarian, that will see you on your back,” he gritted.

Breathless, she hung in his arms, using every measure of restraint she possessed not to move against him. Only the linen of his braies separated what made them man and woman. “How could you take me with such abandon when your king wants my head?”

“My king is not a fool,” he softly said, his lips lowering to hers. “Nor am I.” Then he kissed her.

Tarian stiffened in his arms, wanting desperately to melt into him and allow him to take her to that place again in one passionate thrust. But, she told herself, if she allowed him this time, then there would be another and another, and…

She stilled, and when she did, his lips rose from hers, his deep green eyes intensely searching her face.

“How can you, Tarian, sit so hot and creamy on my bare thigh when you know why I am here?”

She gasped, his question shocking her. But her answer shocked her more. “I too am no fool, my lord knight.”

His eyes widened and she felt him surge against her. “What are you saying?”

She pressed her hand upon his chest and felt the hard thud of his heart. “I am not a wanton woman, sir knight.”

His arms tightened around her waist. “Nay, you are not.”

“Despite the sins of my father and my forcing Malcor to wed with me, I am not evil.”

He traced his nose along her cheek to the bend in her neck, inhaling her. “Nay, you are not.”

“I have feelings as any other woman.”

His fingers swept her breasts, molding them into his hands. She arched into them and moaned. His lips sank into her neck and his hips moved up against her. She squeezed her eyes shut, reveling in his ardent touch. For so long she had merely existed, never knowing the true meaning of living, of lust, of passion, not until he touched her. She craved it as much as she craved life.

“I have feelings as any other man, Tarian. I want you, here and now. Give yourself to me.”

“I—I—” She could not say the words. She shivered, and pressed her hands to his chest. “I—”

He shook his head and untied his braies. Standing with her in his arms, he pushed them down his thighs and sat back down on the bench, bringing her down with him, where she straddled him. His hard smooth heat slid against the soft inner flesh of her thighs. She hissed in a breath and looked at him. His eyes blazed in passion, his body was tense; he waited only for her signal to proceed. God’s blood, she wanted him. She wanted him to fill her as he had the night past, as he did in her dreams, as she had envisioned earlier in the rain.

She felt as if she stood on the edge of a great cliff, and that if she jumped there would be nothing below to catch her but the craggy rocks or the deep swirling water. But the fall would be freeing, exhilarating, unlike any other experience; and should she survive it, she would be stronger for it.

Tarian closed her eyes and arched into him, her hips thrusting forward slightly. “Look at me, Tarian,” he softly commanded. She kept her eyes closed, afraid of what she
would see. He lifted her slightly, and said again, “Look at me when I enter you.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and it was as if last night never happened. She was as nervous as a virgin; but unlike a virgin, excitement and anticipation buzzed through her, mayhap so much so because she knew the sublime pleasure his body could give hers.

His dark eyes full of passion and promise, he lowered her gently onto him, and when he slid his fullness into her Tarian realized she would crave him always.

He groaned in primal satisfaction as he slowly filled her. His eyes never wavered from her face. Hers widened at the sublime sensation of him filling her. She fought the urge to close her eyes and just allow him to take her to flight, but she could not let herself become so vulnerable.

“Tarian,” he whispered. “When you are ready.”

Perspiration moistened his brow, and she knew he exercised great control not to gallop away with her astride. At the thought, she smiled. “I had a vision today of us riding together thusly.” The instant she made the confession she regretted it. He smiled and moved into her. He caught her off guard, and she did close her eyes and soaked up every sensation as if it would be the last time. A sharp tug of regret needled her. ’Twould be the last time: if she allowed herself to give into her cravings, then they would control her. And she could not afford to be manipulated by desire…or any other force.

“You are shameless, Tarian Godwinson.”

“Aye, and you are dangerous.”

His cock flexed inside her and she felt her muscles embrace it. He hissed in another breath.

“I am ready, milord. Let us ride.”

He galloped away with her. It took her only a few tries to synchronize with him, and when she did, she felt as if her body would come apart. She hung onto his wide shoulders; his hands gripped her hips, moving her up and down, back and forth, and he filled her so much, touching her in a place so deep inside her, that every time he did she bit back a cry.

His lips pressed to her throat, and his teeth nipped at her skin. His body pushed in and out of her with the force of a battering ram, and in the midst of it all, she lost her breath, lost control, and experienced a sensation so sublime she nearly fainted from the intensity of it. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him in surprise. He smiled tightly and increased his pace as she melted around him in one desirous wave after another.

She felt the shift in him. His fingers dug into her bottom, his breath came sharper and shallower. His eyes narrowed. Tarian dug her nails into his shoulders as she desperately hung onto him, and tightened her muscles around him. “
Jesu
!” he harshly cried. Thrusting hard and high into her, he filled her with his seed. She clasped her thighs tightly around him, wanting every bit of it.

Raggedly they clung to each other. She licked her dry lips and he pulled her face down to his and kissed her deeply, his tongue moistening hers. She swelled and pressed into his embrace, molding herself to him, wanting to hold onto his strength forever.

He flexed inside her, and she spasmed against him, catching her breath.

His kiss deepened, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “What just happened to me?” she gasped, still trying to come back to earth.

“A complete release. ’Tis similar to what happens to a man.”

She stilled and looked at him, her eyes questioning. “Does it feel the same for you?”

He grinned wider. “Aye, ’tis the best feeling in the world.”

She frowned, suddenly feeling as if she had made a colossal mistake. Not the deed, but experiencing it and wanting more.

He traced his knuckles across her bottom lip. “What bothers you?”

She nipped at his hand, catching a finger between her teeth. His body surged in hers, and she wondered how soon he would be ready to go again. She laved her tongue across his skin, feeling quite the vixen. Sex, she decided, was not something to be whispered about behind closed doors, but something to be shouted about from the rooftops. She opened his scarred and calloused hand and pressed her lips to his palm. He hissed in a sharp breath. She looked up at him and smiled like a coquette. “I have heard from many women that they find the act distasteful. That most certainly was not.”

His intense eyes did not waver from hers. “Was it distasteful with Malcor?”

Tarian stiffened, and her flirtatious mood instantly dissolved. She used the break in mood to disengage from him. She slowly stood, and when he slid from her she cried out. He reached for her, but she spun away from him, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable. “Please do not ask me about my dead husband. He caused me great pain and humiliation. I would put that time behind me.”

Wulfson stood and grabbed a linen and wiped himself clean, then hitched up his braies. “My pardon.”

Tarian stood for a long time and watched him dress. She wrestled with the conflicting emotions and feelings swirling so crazily about inside her heart and her head. She did not regret her tryst with the knight, despite everything. If he slew her at that moment, he alone had given her a pleasure she had never dreamed existed and that in itself justified the deed. Nay, she had no regrets. But it could not continue.

“Sir, it seems you have caught me at a weak moment.”

He tied his chauses to his braies and looked over at her. “Do you regret it?”

She answered honestly, “Nay. I do not, but please do not press me again. I have no desire to become your leman.” He scowled but nodded. “And I would ask that you do not share what just occurred with your men.”

“I am not a knave, madame.”

“I did not imply that you were—it’s just that—well, men have a penchant for crowing their conquests.”

Wulfson bowed, then slipped his undertunic over his head. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.” Tarian grabbed up the sewing basket and strode from the room.

When Wulfson returned to the hall his men stared at him as if they could see the thoughts in his head. He scowled. Angry with himself, angry over the situation, but mostly angry at the Welsh witch. He was a seasoned warrior whose self-control, though tested regularly, had never fallen, but at every turn he found his will tested and breached by the lady. He cursed himself for his weakness for her. She had gotten under his skin the moment he set eyes on her dirty, bloody body in the bowels of this place, and she continued
to haunt him, so much so that he would have staked his life on her having come to his chamber in the night and seduced his will from him. And what was that to what had just transpired? He felt the blood heat in his veins and his cock rise.
Jesu
! He could not have resisted her for the lives of his men!

“Say what is on your minds,” he blustered as he poured himself a full cup of ale. The hall had begun to fill for the evening repast.

“Pray tell, Wulf, tell us what plagues
you
,” Rorick said, filling his own empty cup. Wulfson cast a glance to Gareth, who with his men approached.

“’Tis nothing time away from here will not cure.” He wondered if he spoke the truth.

The meal awaited only the lady of the manor. Wulfson scowled when long moments later he was informed she had retired for the evening.

His scowl deepened the next morn when she did not make an appearance, and after three more days of her refusal to preside over her manor, losing his temper at last Wulfson strode up the stairs and burst through her door. The girl Brighid cried out, as did the maid Edith and the other maid. He stepped into the chamber. “Where is she?” he demanded.

Edith stood, and for a servant she met his eye unwaveringly. “Of whom do you speak, milord?”

“Lady Tarian! Where is she?”

Edith smiled. “She is not in the hall?”

Wulfson’s temples throbbed with the infusion of blood. He stepped closer. “She has not stepped foot in the hall these four days past.” He lowered his voice to menacing. “Where is she?”

Edith’s brows rose in mock surprise. “I suspect she is out for a ride then, milord.”

“Unchaperoned?” he demanded, incredulous.

Edith laughed. “You of all men know she requires no man’s protection.”

Wulfson spun on his heels and stomped out of the room, down the stairway, out the hall, and to the stable. Her gray was in his stall. His fury mounted. Had she flown? Could he blame her? Would he in her position wait for the death sentence? Though Warner had still not returned, he was not overly worried, since he could be awaiting a suitable tide to cross the channel. Yet Wulfson felt an unease bite and scratch at his belly.

The unease intensified when Gareth, followed by several of his own men, encountered Wulfson standing furious in the stable. “Where is she?” Wulfson demanded.

“She is not here?” the guard asked, surprised.

Wulfson’s eyes narrowed. “Do not play me for a fool as the nurse already has. The lady is not in the manor nor is she here. Her horse eats his morning oats.”

Color drained from Gareth’s face, and Wulfson knew he did not lie. “She—I have slept at her door each night. I have another man posted during the day. She did not slip past.”

“And she did not climb from the window either!” Wulfson railed.

Angrily he strode back to the lady’s chamber. If he had to whip the information from her nurse, he would. But when he arrived, she too had disappeared. Frustration so complete he thought his head would split in half engulfed him. He threw his hands up in frustration and turned on Brighid. “Tell me where she is or I will nail you to the manor doors until you do!”

The girl screamed, which brought not only Gareth running into the room but her father and several of his men. Wulfson’s jaw was clenched so tightly he thought it would crack into pieces.

“Leave her be,” Alewith commanded, gathering his daughter into his arms. His eyes blazed in indignation. “She has no hand in what Tarian does.”

Thorin spoke softly to the girl. “Tell us where she is. Her life is at stake.”

“Nay, I will not tell you! Her life is more at stake here!” She turned murderous blue eyes on Wulfson.

Frustration, fury and fear tangled in an ugly battle in his belly. “At the risk of your own life, tell me where she is,” Wulfson menacingly said.

Alewith pushed her behind him and stood his ground. “Touch her, and there will be hell to pay. She will not give Tarian up.”

“I have no wish to harm the girl, my lord, but either she tells me the whereabouts of the lady or she will spend time in the dungeon until she does.”

“Who is the barbaric bastard now, Sir Wulfson?” Tarian asked, striding into the room, her bow and quiver slung over her shoulder.

Every person in the chamber turned, as a collective sigh of relief escaped them all. But none so much as Wulfson. He would deny to his death that he felt a sense of elation at the sight of her, and it had nothing to do with failing his king. Joy sang in his hard heart. She was a sight to behold, as always. Her cheeks were flushed red and her hair a wild mass around her, festooned with festive ribbons entwined throughout. Her casual dress for the hunt only accentuated everything female about her.

“You play a dangerous game, milady, not only with your own life but those of others,” Wulfson said, taking a step closer to her. Her violet scent wafted around his nostrils, teasing him and torturing him at the same time. His cock filled, and had he not had an audience he would have given in to the craving he had for her.

“I do not play at love and war, sir.”

He forced back a tight smile. “You are no longer permitted to leave this manor unless you are given permission by myself or one of my men.”