Defiant (30 page)

He was strong and had lifted her as if she weighed only as much as a handful of leaves. How could she have thought even for an instant that she felt any desire for him whatsoever? Of course all she felt was fear!

But she didn’t.

She felt safe.

“You’re trying to frighten me apurpose!”

“Is it working?”

“Nay!”

A slow, knowing smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “If ‘tis not fear you feel, it must be desire.”

“Of course I’m afraid. Terrified.”

“Nay, you are not.” His voice was low, calm. Knowledgeable. Too knowledgeable.

Embarrassed at her response to him, she resisted the urge to cover her breasts and quim with her arms. Could he see the trails of heat that still lingered from where his tongue had been?

“Speak truth rather than cover it with female lies and manipulation, Gwyneth.”

“I am not manipulat—”

“To make a marriage, there must be honesty between us.”

Honesty? With a man? Impossible.

“Fine,” she huffed, frustrated with the turn in conversation, with how the situation had escaped from her control, with how vexed he made her feel. “I do not wish to be married to you. How’s that for honesty?”

She pushed her shoulders back as if she were a soldier going to battle. “I’m ready for the act. Desire runs rampantly through my veins for you.” The sooner they started, the sooner the deed would be finished. “I’m ready to earn my freedom to walk about the castle.”

His intense gaze slid casually down her body. “You are as stiff as yon hearth poker.” He made no move to bring their bodies closer together.

“Nevertheless.”

To distract herself from her turbulent, confusing emotions, she began making lists of things she would do if Jared ever allowed her to manage the keep. Organizing always relaxed her.

Clean the great hall, change the rushes, sweep the cobwebs, and organize the pantries.

Jared’s palm cupped her shoulder, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Clean the hearths. Wipe the tables.

“Relax, wife.”

Her eyes popped open. “You cannot command me to relax,” she said tightly. “I won’t fight you.”

“I am not interested in tupping an iron slab.”

“Then get off of me!”

“I thought you wanted to seduce me.”

She glowered at him. “I have changed my mind.”

“But I haven’t changed mine about wanting to be seduced.”

Faith, the man irritated her.

“I only wanted to seduce you because the servants run over each other and it looks as though the rushes have not been changed in two years.” And she needed to see what was wrong with Irma. Her voice sounded defeated even to her own ears.

“Gwyneth, the feelings you are having do not have anything to do with the servants.”

She swallowed. It would be easy to claim he did not know what he was talking about, but he would likely only see through her lie. “I did not start out thinking that I would want to couple again, but—” Heat crept up her cheeks and she turned her face away, not wanting to see the victory in his intense eyes.

His fingers lifted to her cheek and he ran his knuckles from her hairline to her chin.

She flinched, not sure what to make of the gentle movement.

“I am truly sorry about what happened on our wedding night. ”

Sorry? His words hung in the air. Unexpected. His voice was rough, like something scraped his throat, and she wondered if he had ever apologized before.

“'Twill ne’er be thus again, I swear. The desire you felt earlier—I can make it grow so that there will be only pleasure between us. Of a truth, I have felt so much guilt I could scarcely live with myself.”

She tilted her head back. A haunted look lurked in his eyes.

Guilt?

He felt guilt over his treatment of her?

“I’m so sorry, Gwyneth. Let us start over.”

That a man would feel remorse over the act of copulation intrigued her. All she knew of men was they cared little for the feelings of women around such matters. Their lusts were self-centered, selfish, and self-seeking.

During war they raped at will and during peacetime they preyed upon women in the forests and alleys. Even supposedly “good” men satisfied their base desires at stench-filled brothels. From what she knew, naught mattered to them save their own greedy lust.

But since their wedding night, he’d shown no interest in copulation.

Was his restraint the result of
guilt
?

“This marriage is not what either of us intended,” he said, “but, truly, we should try to make it as amicable as we can.”

There was a very long pause.

“I can’t seem to think straight when I’m around you, Gwyneth. Your skin, your voice, the way you walk … You leave me breathless and I was afraid I would spend the rest of my life tormented with wanting to touch you and afraid of frightening you. Your desire to seduce me tonight was a welcome relief. ”

Warmth spread inside her chest.

“I made you something.”

“Something for me?”

His shoulders hunched slightly and he looked … vulnerable. Picking up his leather pouch, he untied its string. “I think I’ve wanted you since I first saw you at the faire.”

She sat up slightly.

“Close your eyes.”

She hesitated, unsure what he was about.

“Trust me, Gwyneth.”

Trust him? There was so much between them. But she closed her eyes.

“Now hold out your hand.”

She opened her eyes. “This is a trick?”

“Nay. Go on. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Taking a deep breath, she complied.

The
click
of wood and something was dropped into her palm.

She blinked. An exquisitely carved wooden bracelet. She lifted it into the air.

It was made of a smoothly sanded ring of wood that was about an inch thick and had carved words in its surface. It had a small red rock embedded on one side. Squinting, she tried to make out the words.

“Her price”
—she turned the bracelet to read the rest of it—
“is far above”
—cocking her head to one side, she sounded out the next word just as Jared had taught her—
“r-r-ru-bies.”
Amazed, she read it again. “Her price is far above rubies.”

“'Tis from the Bible,” Jared said. “The next part says,
The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil,
but there was not enough room for me to carve that.”

Trust? There had been naught but mistrust between them.

Clutching it to her chest, she blinked at him. “You carved this for me?”

“Aye.” He tugged his goatee. A gesture of nervousness? Was he afraid that she would reject the gift?

“It’s … lovely.” She slid it onto her wrist, spinning the wood round and round.

“It’s not a ruby.”

She ran her fingers over the wood. “It’s the eye from your dragon staff!”

“Aye.” The edge of vulnerability had crept into his voice again. His shoulders stiffened.

She touched his cheek, her fingers brushing against his goatee. Her heart felt as though it would burst in her chest. Men gave her jewels—diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. But no one had ever taken the time, had the patience, to make her something from his own hand.

“An amicable marriage would be nice,” she said at last. But the words were inadequate. He left her breathless.

“If you will let me, I can give you pleasure to erase the memory of our wedding night,” he offered. “I would like to have a real marriage.”

Warmth spread through her. Her body felt tight as a bowman’s string. “Are you so arrogant in your skills as a lover?”

He laughed. Laughed? “Skill with one woman in bed proves little on the next.” He traced his fingers down her arm. “Some women might find this pleasurable but some might not.”

Gooseflesh popped on her skin.

“Or perhaps it could be that you like this better.” He began kneading her arm from her shoulder to her wrist.

Little sparkles of delight followed his fingers.

“Or mayhap this.” Taking her hand in his, he encircled each of her fingers one by one from base to tip in a spiraling motion. The soft caress was so luxurious and unexpected that, unbidden, a mewl escaped her lips.

He smiled, and his eyes lit with interest. “So this then,” he said, retracing the path his fingers had taken.

Tingling filtered through her body and she stared at their intertwined fingers. In sharp contrast to hers, his hands were wide and tanned with long, blunt fingers. Rough calluses on the palms and tips proved that, unlike herself, he had done manual labor.

She tried to recall how he had flipped her on her stomach, dragged her to her knees, and prodded her roughly with his member, but the memory had faded. If she had not experienced it, she would not have even thought that such violence was possible for this impossibly patient man.

Over and over again his fingers traced up and down hers. Slowly. As if they had all the time in the world. As if there were no conflicts between them. As if Irma had not sent a desperate message.

For an instant, she wished it could truly be thus between them—that it was indeed possible for them to have an amicable relationship.

Not letting go of her hand, he sank back onto the mattress, a pillow propping up his head. “When you are ready, I would like you to climb atop me.”

Climb atop him?

Her eyes widened.

“I do not wish to climb atop you!” But the idea bounced around in her mind. What would it be like to take rather than be taken? She had enjoyed exploring his body.

He laughed gently and drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “When you are ready. I recall you enjoyed exploring my body very much when I was tied to the bed.”

Her cheeks heated that she had just been thinking of the same thing.

“I recall how you had been wet when I touched you.”

She wanted to jump from atop the bed and crawl beneath it.

“Mayhap first you could show me the techniques that Irma taught you concerning the seduction of men.”

She nearly choked. Without thinking, she placed her hand across his mouth to silence him.

He grinned. Grinned?

“You are smiling!” she accused.

“Is holding a man’s mouth shut part of the seduction plan?” he rumbled against her palm.

She snatched her hand back. “Of course not.”

His wide shoulders quaked.

“You find this humorous?”

“Of a truth,” he said, smiling unrepentantly. “Tying men to the bed, holding their mouths shut with your hands—perfect seduction technique, I think.”

Her brows drew together. “You’re teasing me.”

“Come, Gwyneth, admit it… I’m not completely an ogre.”

“Well.” She cocked her head to one side. “Not
completely,
perhaps.”

“So about those seduction techniques …”

Somehow the tension in the room had dissipated. Her shoulders relaxed and a tendril of excitement swirled into her belly.

Bending down, she kissed his neck. “Do you like this?” She kissed his cheek. “Or this?” she asked, echoing his earlier words.

Sparks blazed in his green eyes, igniting an echoing fire inside her core.

Reaching up, she ran her fingers into his hair. The place on his scalp where she had stitched him after the wedding snagged her palm. He winced.

Carefully, she inspected the wound, nearly completely healed. “Does it hurt?”

“You could kiss it,” he whispered.

She brushed her lips against his scalp, inhaling the musky scent of his skin. He was delicious. Intoxicating.

She gazed down at his long body. Scars crisscrossed his legs including a long, bumpy one that ran from his groin to his knee.

“What happened?” She ran her finger down its length.

He inhaled. “A story for another time. Come, girl, I want you. ”

Closing her eyes, she swung her leg over his body so that she straddled him. How magnificent to be riding atop a man!

She gazed down at him through lowered lashes. His manroot jutted into the air. Lightly, she ran the tip of her finger over it. A hiss of breath sounded from his parted lips. Unable to stop herself, she laughed, enjoying having him at her command.

“Careful, girl.”

But the warning in his voice did not stop her. Wrapping her palm around his member, she lifted on her knees and guided it toward her quim.

“Wait.” Jared stuck two fingers in his mouth, then pressed them between her thighs.

Gwyneth shivered and gasped. He made small, gentle circles around the folds of her sex. A trickle of sweat ran down her spine and her thighs quivered. Arching her back, she surrendered to sensation, to the feel of his fingers. Tension built inside her core.

“I want—”

He lifted his hips and guided himself inside her.

Startled, she gazed down at where their bodies were connected, at where his cock impaled her. Desire flooded her limbs.

Slowly she began to rock back and forth. Back and forth. She kneaded his shoulders and sank down upon him, then lifted and bounced up and down. Amazingly marvelous. Every shift of her body produced a new sensation and she wanted to explore them all. Fast, slow, back and forth, up and down.

Pressure built inside her quim. She closed her eyes, curled her toes—wanting, longing for something she did not understand. “Jared,” she whispered as the sensation of eruption burst inside her. She shivered and collapsed atop him, feeling shattered.

His eyes were closed and his hands fisted in the bedsheet. His hips thrust upward, pushing his manroot deep inside her. He cried out and she caught the sound in her mouth and pressed her tongue inside to tangle with his. She wanted him. All of him.

Gwyneth lay awake for long, languid hours feigning sleep. Moisture seeped between her legs and she felt pleasure. Pure pleasure.

His arm wrapped around her waist and a calm peace settled over them, as if their spirits had somehow melded together. The bracelet on her wrist made her smile as she spun it round and round.

Her price is far above rubies.
No one had ever thought of her as being more precious than rubies. And he’d given her the red rock from the dragon’s eye.