Bride by Command (14 page)

Not that he wanted another. Morgana would make a fine wife, for a sentinel or an emperor. She was strong, she was beautiful, and more—he liked her. He had not even expected that much when he’d begun his search for a bride. He liked her, he wanted her . . . and in an odd way she already felt like a wife.

The fact that she had her hand on his cock had a little something to do with that, he supposed.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

Morgana rubbed her wet and mostly clothed body against his. “I am. I have never been more sure of anything.”

She leaned toward him, and he latched his mouth onto her throat, and in that moment his decision was made. Her flesh tasted so sweet, and she clung to him so well. He had to have her, here and now. He could not wait to slip inside her wet heat and make her scream with pleasure, to ease the pain that had been plaguing him for days. No other would do, no one but this woman would suit. He wanted to feel Morgana’s muscles clench around him and he wanted to find release inside her.

But he would not take her fast and hard. She deserved better for her first time. He slipped his hand under her soaked skirt and up her leg and touched her intimately, as she was touching him. He slipped a finger inside her heat, and she lurched, splashing water onto the floor and gasping in surprise and delight.

She was anxious and writhing, ready in many ways, but he did not rush. Instead he unbuttoned the bodice she had struggled with in her haste. Slowly, deliberately, he unfastened the tiny buttons that restrained her. He freed her breasts from the confines of the fabric, and he touched them. Such fine, firm breasts they were. He raked his fingers across hardened nipples, then tasted them both, one and then the other. She liked it. Again she gasped and lurched, and this time she grabbed at his hair and pulled him closer.

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.

Jahn answered by suckling a nipple, pulling it deep into his mouth. Morgana held onto him, grasping the back of his head and pulling him to her. He was close, so close, to slipping inside her, but there was not enough room in this damned tub to take her properly.

If he was going to surrender to this maddening woman, if he was going to break all the promises he had made to himself last night and this morning, he wanted to do the deed properly.

He stood slowly, his arms around Morgana as he brought her with him.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he said, yielding to the inevitable.

Her soaked gown would take precious minutes to remove from her body, and he would have nothing less than Morgana spread beneath him naked as he himself was. He reached toward the small table, snatched up the straight razor with which she intended to shave his beard, and began to carefully cut the wet fabric. A seam here, a length there, he cautiously cut away all that stood between him and his empress. In moments, what had once been a fine gown fell to the floor, a heap of wet rags, and Morgana stood before him naked and wet and trembling. She did not tremble because she was cold or afraid, but because she wanted him.

Jahn had never seen Morgana like this, completely bare. No man had ever seen her this way, he knew. In appreciation he ran two admiring hands from her pale shoulders down trembling arms, reveling in the softness of her, in the vulnerable femininity that was such a contrast to his rough skin and hard strength. He touched her hips and her thighs and her bare ass while he leaned down and kissed the wet pulse at her graceful, long throat. Yes, she would make a very fine empress. From this moment on, she was empress. It was done. He had to be sure of that, he had to know it was right before this went any farther.

Without a doubt in his mind he laid her on the bed, spread her legs, and touched her. She was so ready for him, he could easily give her release with his hands and his mouth, as he had last night. But he wanted to feel her around him in a way he had never wanted anything else. He craved her release; he needed to feel her shake around him. He could—perhaps should—tell her who he was before he continued, but he did not. No one had ever accused him of being self-sacrificing or noble to a fault.

“Ana,” he said gently.

“I’m sure!” she responded, revealing her frustration with her voice and in the way she pulled him toward her.

“This might hurt a little bit,” he warned.

“I hurt now,” she whispered. “Don’t make me want you any more than I already do. Please, Jahn.”

He spread her legs and pushed inside her gently, as gently as he could. She was tight and he was desperate for her, but he took his time. He rocked in a gentle motion; he introduced himself into her as easily and as tenderly as he knew how. There was relief and satisfaction in pushing inside her, there was a sense of rightness he had not expected.

Jahn felt as if he had waited a lifetime for her.

All the while he watched her face as she discovered new heights, new pleasures. When he broke through her maidenhead, she jerked a bit and uttered a quiet “Oh,” but that was all. She did not hesitate to move her hips, to urge him deeper.

She closed her eyes, and together they fell into an easy swaying rhythm of joining and discovery and bliss. Jahn could see and feel her growing need, and his own was on the edge of his control. Every stroke was a wonder, every push took him deeper, took him closer to ecstasy.

Conscious thought faded, and there was just his body and Morgana’s and the way they came together. There was a need here that went beyond any other he’d ever known, a union that was beyond a search for the pleasurable end.

Not that the end wasn’t fine and right in itself.

He moved faster, and Morgana met him wave for wave. Her flesh and his met and mingled. She gasped; she grabbed for him and held on tight . . . and then she broke. She cried out softly and her hips rose against his to ask for more. She shook beneath and around him, and Jahn drove deep and found his own release as she rippled around him. Yes, this was ecstasy. This was the only paradise he would ever know.

He collapsed atop her and then rolled to the side, so as not to crush her. She was so small, compared to him. She was woman to his man; gentleness to his harsh need . . . brutal honesty to his deception.

She rolled into him, warm and soft and accepting. “That was very nice,” she whispered.

“Nice?” he asked, resting his hand in her mussed hair.

She laughed. It was a pleasing sound. When he’d met her he had not imagined she had such a wonderful laugh. No, he had seen only her demands, her abrasiveness, her insults. He had not seen the real woman beneath those defenses. He had not bothered to look.

“What shall I say if ‘nice’ is not acceptable?” she asked. “You are a fabulous lover. I did not know such sensations existed. I want you again and again and again,” she said, her voice filled with the new wonder she had found. She lifted up and looked down at him. No, that was not love in her eyes, but she was very pleased.

As was he.

“We’re truly married now, are we not?” she asked.

“Yes, Ana,” he said, losing a large portion of his own satisfaction as he imagined how she would react once she knew the truth. “We are truly married.”

KRISTO
Stoyan stood very still and watched from a distance as Lady Danya picked at her food. It had been four days since he’d made his “offer” to her and she’d accepted. He’d trailed her since, watching closely and wondering if she would lose the stomach for what had to be done and confess all that she knew to the man who escorted her. She had not, lucky for her and for all those who traveled with her.

Tonight he would leave this path, satisfied—thanks to the girl’s compliance—that she was truly an ally in this endeavor. But first, he did need to offer her a word of encouragement.

He didn’t have to wait long before Lady Danya slipped into the woods, entering the dense brush not far from where Kristo stood. She didn’t like the forest much, not after having met him there, but she also did not wish to see to personal matters too near the sentinels and the attentive blond man of higher rank. She was shy even in front of her servant. Yes, she would rather face him again than embarrass or display herself immodestly before inferiors.

And she would see him again, sooner than she’d like.

If he were so inclined, he could wait until she’d tossed up her skirts so he could catch her in a delicate and embarrassing moment, but he had no time for such amusements—and no attraction to one such as Lady Danya, who was pretty of face and body but weak at the pit of her soul. Kristo liked his women strong and as determined as he himself was; he wanted an equal beneath him, not an inferior. Lady Danya was not strong, not in any sense which mattered to him, even though he’d assured her otherwise. Panic alone had gifted her with the courage to successfully conceal her pregnancy and the birth of her child. Pride and embarrassment had driven her to leave home to have her baby.

Kristo pulled his hood more securely over his face. Like the long robe he wore, the hood was too large. The dark fabric of both swallowed him, making the proportions of his face and body impossible to discern. He did not think this meek woman would dare to look at him too closely, but just in case she was so bold, he made sure his face was lost in deep shadows. Eventually she would know him well enough, but not tonight.

“I’m always watching you,” he whispered.

The lady jumped and squealed, and she twisted as if she planned to turn and face him. Kristo slapped a fast and strong stilling hand on her shoulder, in case her eyes were so sharp they could see his features even here in the darkness.

“What do you want?” she asked, gazing away from him as he desired. She shook. That was good.

“We are allies; are we not? Might allies not meet and discuss their plans?” He wished he could look upon her face so he could see the fear there, but that would mean taking the chance that she would see his own. She had too much weakness within her, and he did not yet trust her; not until she was in too deep to find her way out. “I wish only to reassure you that Ethyn is doing well. He is adjusting to his new home.”

“New home?” she asked.

“After the witch who sold him and the couple who bought the boy from her died so tragically, he had no one. He had to go somewhere; did he not? Would you have him sleep in the gutter?”

“They all died? Was there an epidemic in the village? Ethyn isn’t sick, is he?” For a moment a mother’s concern overrode her fear. He would remember that. Her love for the child she had given birth to was her weakest aspect.

“I have never been called an epidemic before, not to my knowledge, but I suppose you could say they all fell victim to the same scourge.”

Her shaking subsided. She was now practically frozen. “You killed them,” she whispered.

“Yes, I did. I needed Ethyn to get to you, so I took him. Those three were the only ones who knew the truth of his origins, and of me. What choice did I have?”

Her spine steeled for a moment. “How do I know you’re not lying about everything?” she asked. “For all I know my son is truly dead and has been for a very long time. Somehow you found out about what happened and you spun a tale to make me do what you want.”

Kristo moved in and placed his mouth close to Lady Danya’s fine, pale ear. His breath felt like a winter’s wind on her skin. “Ethyn has his father’s hair, but your eyes. If he were to stand between the two of you, no one would doubt that he was the result of your liaison. He is a pretty child, looking almost like a girl with those long lashes and rosy cheeks.” She was holding her breath now. “The child has a red birthmark here.” Kristo stabbed her in the side with one forceful finger, making her flinch and stifle a cry of pain. “Do you recall that birthmark?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Smelling salt and sadness, he reached up and around to feel the fall of warm tears on a flawless white cheek. “Betray me, tell anyone of our meeting, and I will kill the boy and deposit his body upon your sister’s doorstep, with a long note of explanation.”

“He’s just a child!” she protested.

“Children die just as easily as grown men and women do. Easier, in fact. They’re very fragile.”

She was shaking again, more fiercely than before.

“You I won’t kill, if you betray me,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear again. “You I will sell as your son was sold, but not to a simpleminded couple who long for a child of their own. No, if you do not do exactly as I say, I will sell you into sheer misery.”

“Lady Danya?” a concerned voice called from not far enough away. It was that damned blond man who possessed some sort of magic. “Is everything all right?”

“Tell him you are fine,” Kristo ordered in a harsh whisper. “And make him believe it.”

Lady Danya took a deep breath and then called out in a reasonably calm voice, “I’m fine. Can’t a woman have a moment alone? Don’t come into the woods!” She sounded quite alarmed at the prospect.

“I won’t,” the interfering man assured her in a steady voice. “You’ve been in there awhile and I was concerned.” He sounded sadly deflated and rejected.

“Don’t be!” she snapped, taking her anger out on an innocent man.

Kristo had not been certain about Lady Danya, secrets or no. He would much prefer the other—had all but demanded the other—but unfortunately the girl he preferred had gone missing. Lady Morgana Ramsden had refused the offer from the emperor and disappeared, running off with some common man, or so he heard. Kristo had not seen that possibility, not in his dreams or trances or imaginings. He could not see her well, not in the way he saw most. Try as he might, he could not locate her; he could not see her clearly even in the deepest recesses of his mind. She was too far away, and she was not weak of mind like this one. Soon he would see all, somehow. He still wanted Lady Morgana in the position of empress. This one seemed willing and capable enough, and she would do well enough if the other was not found, but oh—he did want to see Lady Morgana in the palace, whether he could touch her mind well or not.