Claudia Dain (23 page)

Too close—they were suddenly too close, the stables too small, the space too confined and hot and still to hold them both. That was the sudden knowledge that burst upon her as she left Onyx behind her and entered the heated radiance of Ulrich.

But she did not stop. She would not stop. This wager would be played out, and she would win.

She came within a handspan of him, pushing against the armor of his arrogance, pressing her own confidence and fearlessness into his heart like a talon. He straightened instantly, feeling the threat of her, and the tips of her breasts brushed against the fabric of his leather tunic, yet she held her ground and she held his stare in the grip of her own.

"Lady, I fear for you," he whispered, standing straight and tall before her, his breath covering her. "Make not so bold with me. I am no boy. If you offer, I will take."

"One kiss only may you take from me. One kiss I give you leave to have," she snarled softly, her eyes piercing his with the thrust of her pride. "Nothing more."

"I will hold to the wager," he said, looking down at her. "I will take nothing more."

He was tall and so very, very straight. As if the world had not pressed a weight of woe upon him. As if there were no earthly burden which he could not hear. As if heaven itself could shatter and fall and he would remain, tall and smiling and strong.

"Then take your kiss," she commanded, tossing aside the promise of his strength. He was a man; he had nothing to give her that she would ever want. "Take it and mark my silence. I will not moan in desire, and yet I will not resist. One kiss you shall have of me, but nothing more."

"Lady, if the kiss be right, I shall need nothing more."

And with those words, he moved.

Over the compressed pounding of her heart, he touched her.

In a single motion, his left arm swept around her waist, drawing her in, close, to press against his length. Too close. His arm was too long, entrapping her, making a cage of flesh from which she could not fly; these thoughts swam in her heart, muddying her mind, confusing her.

"Nay! There was nothing of embracing in our wager," she said, pushing him from her, her hands to his shoulders.

He let her open a space between their bodies. But he did not take his hand from her.

"Lady, my heart weeps for your loss that you have never known a kiss wrapped within an embrace. This is a kiss as I meant it. This is the kiss you shall take."

"This was no part of it," she said, holding him off, her elbows locked against the weight of him.

"It is now," he said, his voice a guttural growl that raised the hair on her arms.

Pulling her in to him again, against his heat, against the hard wall of his chest, he wrapped her to him, tying them together with his arms, forcing her head back, exposing her throat. She felt his breath upon her skin, the warm and moist mark of his mouth, hovering, caressing, yet touching not.

He did not kiss, he merely breathed his scent upon her. Marking her.

"Take your kiss and be done," she said, holding herself stiffly within his embrace.

"Be still and let me find my way upon your skin," he murmured against her, his mouth a tickle that burned upon her throat. "Be still and unresisting and you might yet win this wager."

"I will win. Take your kiss and find the truth of it," she said.

"Take my kiss and find me standing hard and fast, Lady Frost, for that is the wager beneath all wagers. I will stand."

"Against me," she breathed, closing her eyes against the feel of him.

"For you," he whispered. "Because of you."

Nay, nay, not because of her. He must fall. In his falling, all was won. All was hers if he would but fall, shriveled and cold and unmanned. That was all she wanted. That was all he must do.

His mouth lay upon her throat, nuzzling now, feeling his way along her skin as he held her to him. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against his chest, contrary to all will and wisdom. Contrary to all experience and history. Never had a man moved so resolutely and with such soft force against her will to chill him. Never had a man used her body as a weapon against her as deftly as Ulrich now did.

He touched his mouth to her, yet did not kiss. How that she could think of nothing now but his coming kiss? How that she yearned for his lips upon her, hard and strong and hot? How that she panted in curious longing for that which she most assuredly did not want? How that he had brought her to panting and longing and unwelcome heat?

For she was hot. She squirmed in his arms, the juncture of her thighs hot and swollen, twitching for touch, for heat, for some hard possession that she could not want. That she had never wanted before. Before Ulrich.

His mouth opened wider upon her skin. Now he would take his kiss, now upon her throat. She had thought he would claim her mouth for by such kisses men put much store and many women were won. Yet he hovered, skimming, teasing the tender skin of her throat. Her pulse jumped to meet the hot, soft promise of his mouth, and she arched her neck back, giving him his way. Showing him that she did not resist.

Nay, worse; showing him that she submitted to his mouth without restraint, without thought. All thoughts were of him and of this pulse beat he had fanned to life within her. The warmth of the stables, the soft hum of flies, the smells of animal and straw: all lashed within the golden moment of his mouth opening upon her skin, all lost within the pounding of her heart.

His arm pressed her to him, his hand broad and strong upon her back. His mouth lowered, pressing, touching, consuming her throat with his breath and heat. His right hand snaked down her thigh, spanning it, caressing it, possessing, claiming, enticing. All the things a man was wont to do. All the things she despised. Until now.

"Now I shall mark you, a matching mark upon your neck to pair us," he said in soft threat.

Aye, threat. She heard it, yet could not make herself move from his arms, from his passion, and told herself that it was only the wager which kept her still and unresisting under his assault.

He slid his leg between her thighs, perilously, deliciously close to the ache and throb of her womanhood, pulling her into him. And then he set his mouth upon her.

At last.

A kiss so soft, so breathy and light and warm that she felt it to her feet. An entreaty. A promise. A foretaste. That was this wagered kiss and more.

She swallowed the sighing moan that floated in her heart, forcing herself to remember that to win was all. But it was hard remembering.

And Ulrich was still hard. She could feel him against her belly, hot and high and hard with passion unrestrained and unchallenged. How so? How that he was not falling in fear of her ice?

Ice? When all was fire and smoke, she could find no ice to call forth from her heart. She shimmered and swayed in the heat of him.

And then he kept his promise and opened his hot mouth upon her throat and bit into the soft skin of her neck. A gentle bite. A tasting. A meeting of pulse and tongue and teeth.

Wolf bite.

She swayed against him, clamping her teeth upon her cries, smothering breath with reason and the need to win. No cries. No resistance. But, God above, this was a test unlike any other she had faced.

He sucked her, biting, licking, kissing. Marking her. This would leave a bruise upon her throat for all to see and note and wonder upon. Had she won? Had he? The wager was to be marked by the bruising of her skin.

His hands tightened upon her, bringing her even more into the prison of his heat. His leg was hard between her soft thighs, and she yearned for hardness in that place, in whatever manner she could find it. He pulled her hard against him, lifting her onto his leg, urging her to ride him. And she did. She rubbed herself against his leg in frantic need while his mouth bit into her pulse, claiming her, mastering her. Defeating her.

She moaned. A half moan, choked back, swallowed, killed. Yet still, a cry of longing and passion and need.

He marked it well.

And did not stop.

Thank God, he did not stop. She wanted this, wanted him, wanted to taste him as he was tasting her, wanted her mouth to tangle with his in hot, wet battle, wanted Ulrich as she had wanted no man before.

A mighty push and they were disentangled. Onyx had her face against Ulrich's back, pushing him hard, her black eyes demanding that they part, that Juliane be freed from this wager and from Ulrich's arms.

Ulrich braced himself, protecting her with his body from a horse acting in odd aggression. He turned, taking her arm and leading her to stand with her back against the deeply shadowed wall of the stable, and then he faced the horse. Onyx eyed him coldly. Ulrich returned the look and then led the animal by the halter back to her stall, where he secured the rope that bound her there.

And with the doing, Ulrich turned and smiled. In victory, of course. She had cried out. She had lost the wager, though no eyes had seen it save Ulrich's and no ears but his had heard her cry. Still, she played each game with honor and she would not deny that he had won.

She braced herself to bear the weight of his victory and the pride of his boasting.

"They come to your aid, do they not?" he asked, walking toward her with the assurance of a conqueror. "The animals. You have trained them to protect you."

Chapter 13

So that was how she did it. What man would not fall when attacked by claw and talon and teeth? Still, he had to smile. It was so very clever and had served her well, after all. But no longer. He had her measure now and had her cry upon his ears; he had won this wager and would only win with her. Juliane le Gel's legend was broken, and it was broken upon the skill of Ulrich of Caen.

He had good cause to smile.

She would make a wife. With her father's word, she would make a wife for him.

"I need no protection, nor aid," she said, trying to rip from him all his newfound knowledge of her. "I can repel where, when, and how I wish."

"Can you? Then what of this?" he asked, pulling down the edge of his tunic to show her the raw marks of her hawk upon his neck.

"Is it remarkable that my hawk finds blood where she may?"

"Do not deny your means, Juliane. I find no quarrel with them. Nay, I think you wise and resourceful."

"Do I care what you think?" she snapped, stepping away from him. "I care not. Think what you will. Say what you will. Only leave Stanora with this winning, for there shall be no other."

"Shall there not?" he said. "I think that I will have from you any winning I desire."

She laughed then softly, and her eyes shone in true amusement.

"Think you I have not been told that before? Think you that you are the first? In no way, and by no means is Ulrich of Caen the first to claim Juliane. Yet here I stand. Unclaimed. Unbound."

God above, she was cold. Cold and stiff and haughty. Where was the woman of moans and hot, wet passion? He had held her just a moment past, and yet 'twas as if she were the stuff of dreams and no fleshly woman at all. The woman who was Juliane le Gel stood before him now, her blue eyes cold with disdain, her spine stiff with arrogance. Yet he knew the truth, did he not? She was not as cold as she strove to seem.

Yet that knowledge, so recently found, slipped from him under the cold, hard, blue stare of her eyes. She made mock of all, including him. Especially him.

"What of your horse?" he said, holding himself rigid and feeling his smile drip away from him, pulse by pulse.

Juliane shrugged. "Am I a saint that I can command the very beasts of the earth to my will? You praise me, my lord, by setting such a high mark upon my skill and sanctity. I am no saint."

"That I well and truly believe," he said past the anger in his throat. She would not take this victory from him, souring it with her scorn. "A saint would have won the wager set between us. You did not. You cried out. A thing you swore never to do."

"Set me another wager and I will swear the same again."

"Nay," he said, advancing upon her, "no more wagers between us, lady. I will have you at my will, now and always."

"You speak bold for a knight errant. You have no claim upon me."