Dragon Tree (33 page)

Amie kept her
gaze fixed on the front of his tunic for several throbbing
heartbeats before she looked up. "But... you said you were
bewitched."

"And I am," he
said gently. "But it has nothing to do with Marak's spells. He
makes them up as he goes along, using foreign words that sound
impressive to simple peasants but have nothing whatever to do with
magic."

"Like...
noctar
?"

"A night
beetle found in the desert."

"
Rathban
?"

"I believe it
has to do with a rash brought about by heat and sand."

"
Sunandam
?"

"A bitter
fig."

"So... there
was no spell cast?"

"None."

She digested
that knowledge for as long as it took her heart to swell with joy,
then leaned into him again, her whispered words soft against his
lips.

"Then we will
both discover something new this day, my lord, for I have never
known the true meaning of desire before."

"And... you
know this now?"

"I think I
knew it back at Taniere," she admitted, "but was too frightened to
allow myself to think... to believe it could be so."

A low growl in
his throat preceded a kiss that was so deep and ardent, it stripped
away her ability to think or move. It sent rushes of liquid heat
coursing through her body making her thankful she was kneeling
already for her legs would not have been able to hold her up.

When her lips
were pink and throbbing, he found the pulse that beat below her ear
and followed it down the length of her throat. While her hands
clutched at his tunic for support, he unfastened the laces that
bound the front of her shirt and pushed the cloth aside, trailing
the heat of his tongue across her bared shoulder. His hands
continued to ease the shirt down until it lay in folds about her
hips, clinging by the merest thread of modesty. Her breasts gleamed
pale as marble in the scant light that bled through the closed
shutters.

“You are as
beautiful as the flower that bears your name,” he whispered.

She raised a
hand self-consciously to cover the angry red scar on her shoulder,
but he caught her wrist and lowered his mouth to tenderly kiss the
edges of the wound.

“Every part of
you is beautiful," he insisted. "Even this.”

His kisses
moved lower, savoring the feel of her supple flesh beneath his
lips. He circled a nipple then caught it between his teeth and when
she gasped from the pleasure, he rolled his tongue around and
around the sensitive peak until she was light-headed and
quaking.

Amie’s arms
went around his broad shoulders. Her hands came together at the
back of his head and she held his mouth against her flesh. The heat
of his lips, the swirling of his tongue, the strong greedy suckling
that seemed to want to pull her soul from her chest combined to
send her head arching back and sent a cry shivering into the cool
air.

He kissed her
hard and full on the mouth. He send his hands skimming down to her
waist, pushing the shirt all the way to form a woolen puddle around
her knees. His fingers combed through the pale yellow thatch of
curls at the junction of her thighs and stroked into the velvety
heat between. When he sought to explore the mysterious folds, she
cried out and pressed down on his fingers, and when he slid them
free, they were wet and shiny and Amie was panting against his
shoulder as if she had run a mile through the woods.

She felt as if
she had. The first touch of his fingers had turned the gentle
ripples into hard, sharp spasms that had shaken her to the core.
She could feel the wetness flowing down around his fingers,
slicking her inner thighs, and she did not know whether to be
embarrassed or to beg for more. She'd had no idea such pleasure
could come from a simple touch.

"You cried
out... did I hurt you?"

The expression
of tender concern on his face, the tension in his body was so raw
and poignant, emotion flooded through her in soft, lush waves and
brought a tearful smile to her lips.

“You have
definitely not hurt me, my lord."

He kissed her
smile and murmured, "If I do, you will have to forgive the clumsy
fumblings of a fool who knows no better."

Her fingers
trembled a moment against the front of his tunic, then skimmed down
and started to unfasten the leather belt at his waist. "There are
no fools present here this day. Only two people who wish to learn
and discover."

Tamberlane did
not move. Nor did his eyes stray from hers for one tenth of one
hundredth of a heartbeat. He was aware of the belt falling away
then of her hands gathering up the hem of his tunic. He had to
release her and raise his arms for as long as it took to aid her in
tugging both the tunic and his shirt up and over his head, but his
hands lowered quickly again and settled firmly at her waist.

“I am told,”
she whispered, her cheeks scalded red, “that for a man the act is
instinctive. It comes... quite naturally.”

“And for a
woman?”

Amie ran the
tips of her fingers up his bared arms, then across the hard
breastplate of muscle that sculpted his chest. His skin was warm
and firm, the hairs on his chest were fine and soft and tickled her
fingers as she spread them flat. The flesh across his belly was
lean and ridged with more muscle, and as her hands freed the lacing
that held his own point belt snug around his waist, her gaze was
drawn to the solid bulge straining against his hose.

"For a woman?"
she whispered, having lost the thread of conversation
completely.

“I want to
know what gives you pleasure.”

She looked up,
her eyes shimmering with more emotion than she had allowed herself
to reveal in half a lifetime. “We will have to learn together, my
lord,” she said on a shiver. “For you have already given me more
than I would have dreamed was possible.”

His mouth
captured hers again and together, they sank slowly down until they
were lying on the floor. Tamberlane made some attempt at providing
softness by dragging the blanket off the cot and tucking it beneath
her, but he was back in her arms before she knew he had gone. His
lips covered her breasts, they trailed down to her belly and chased
after the visible tremors that caused her flesh to shudder and her
limbs to quiver apart with an invitation.

He slid a hand
between her thighs and this time he knew the wetness was for him. A
moment of tugging at the remaining laces and fumbling with hose,
and his weight was replacing his hand, the solid heat of him
causing her limbs to flare wider and her hands to clutch at his
shoulders.

His flesh
slipped along her cleft twice, each time touching on raw nerves
that brought her arching up beneath him. With a groan that cast all
modesty aside, she slid her hand down between their bodies and
curled her fingers around his shaft, guiding him into her heat. Her
head tipped back as she felt him pushing, thick and solid inside
her. Her body tightened around him, her limbs rose of their own
accord and wrapped around him, holding him, clinging to him as his
hips rose and fell in the hard, pounding rhythm of his need. It was
pleasure, pure and exquisite.

She felt his
hands, his arms, his body grow tense and rigid, and when a second
wave of bright-hot sensations rose and burst within her, he did not
stop but held her closer through the writhing and clenching, then
thrust again, deeper and harder, straining toward his own release.
When it came, it was explosive and caused him to rear up on
outstretched arms, his head falling back, his body a rigid mass of
muscle that jerked and pulsed and filled her with a flooding
joy.

They remained
locked together and continued to rock with the pleasure, seeking
every last flutter and twitch. His thrusts gradually slowed and a
groan brought him sinking back down into the circle of her
arms.

Amie lay
beneath him, stunned. Her hands were splayed flat on his hips, her
fingers gripped the taut flesh with no intent of letting go. He was
still a throbbing, formidable presence inside her, though most of
the urgency had been expended. His forehead was resting on her
shoulder, his breaths were shallow and warm against her skin, and
she savored these few minutes of intimacy, having expected nothing
so wondrous to occur.

Tamberlane had
neither the wit nor the desire to move. He lay there torn between a
need to lift his head and roar his pleasure... or to remain where
he was until they both perished from hunger and thirst.

His sins were
lust and greed and he acknowledged both readily. He had been driven
by lust to know the secrets of this woman’s body, greedy to hear
her cries and whimpers and know the intense pleasure was not his
alone.

He turned his
head and kissed the side of her neck. Her skin was warm and smooth
and he could feel the sudden jump in the pulse that beat softly
just below her ear.

When he lifted
his head, her eyes were closed, her lashes attempting to hide the
faint shine of tears beneath. Her cheeks were mottled red with a
blush and her lower lip was curved between her teeth, but it was
her body that told him what he needed to know.

"Look at me,"
he commanded gently.

Her lashes
lifted slowly and a single tear slipped out of the corner of her
eye and trickled down her temple. He caught it with his lips and
carried the salty wetness to her mouth, sharing it in a kiss that
was gentle and tender and eloquent in its raw sincerity.

"I was never a
very good monk," he murmured. "I spent more time in horsehair
trying to discourage impure thoughts than I did for most other sins
combined."

She continued
to look up at him, her eyes very wide, very solemn, the violet
flecks nearly overshadowing the blue.

"I only mean
to say that if you still fear some magical spell may have corrupted
me in some way, that is simply not true. I have shattered more of
God's laws than I care to recount."

Amie's hands
slowly relinquished their grasp on his hips. A buttery silkiness
surrounded his flesh where they were joined and, curiously enough,
she felt no disgust, no pressing need to wash the evidence of his
pleasure away. With Odo, she had always felt the need to bathe in
scalding hot water. She had taken herbs and potions and cleansed
herself with soured wine to insure no trace of his seed took hold
within her.

With this man
she felt as if she wanted to remain bound to him forever.

She lifted a
hand and gently brushed aside a long black lock of hair that had
fallen over his forehead. "I fear only that you may have corrupted
me, sirrah, for I had no idea a body was capable of such pleasure.
Do you think... it would always be like this? Or was it just the
once?"

Ciaran's dark
eyes searched hers. He had not expected such a question, and
because he had no knowledge to base an answer upon, he lowered his
gaze to the pink tips of her breasts, which were already gathering
into tight, hopeful little peaks. His blood still coursed hot
through his veins, his flesh was furrowed deep in the tight, wet
heat and he was very much aware of her long, slender legs still
locked fast around him.

"We shall have
to discover the answer to that together," he murmured, bowing his
head to hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The first
growl went unnoticed.

When
Tamberlane had first entered the monk's cell, the two wolfhounds
had retreated to a corner and curled up together. It was Maude
whose head came off her paws now and turned toward the door. Her
ears were pricked up sharply as she gave a second warning rumble in
her throat. Beside her, Hugo curled his lips back over a snarl,
staring at the door as he did so.

Tamberlane, in
the midst of discovering the difference between a whimper of
delight and a ragged, clawing urge, heard it then too—the soft
scrape of a stealthy boot outside the door. As if he needed
confirmation, he saw the black iron latch move ever so slightly,
testing for the hindrance of a lock.

Too late, he
remembered both knights were in the pilgrim's hall leaving no one
outside the door on guard. He had no idea of the hour. He and Amie
had spent the evening entwined in each other's arms, sleeping only
long enough to restore strength between bouts of lovemaking.

Pressing a
finger to Amaranth’s lips to signal caution, he swiftly extricated
himself from between her legs and rolled to his feet. Naked, he
reached for his sword in the same smooth motion that carried him
soundlessly to the door.

Another silent
signal sent Amie scrambling noiselessly to the far side of the cot.
A tilt of his head dispatched the wolfhounds to stand guard over
her while he took up a stance beside the door then reached out to
grasp the iron latch.

~~

Hugh de
Bergerette had kept close watch on Tamberlane and his small party
of misfits throughout the long, dreary day. With the weather so
abysmal, there was little else to do and few brave souls ventured
out of doors. Those who did were monks, their heads bowed under
heavy woolen cowls and their sandaled feet carrying them about
their duties as quickly as possible.

The courtyard
was deserted, the pathways awash under intermittent downpours. When
it finally did stop raining, a fog shouded the grounds and
buildings, so thick that Hugh watched with some amusement as one of
the short-sighted monks conversed with a pillar for several
minutes.

The cell
Tamberlane occupied was at the end of the long row. De Bergerette
had crouched in a darkened niche on the opposite side of the
courtyard marking who came and went throughout the day. He had
identified the two knights who traveled with the Dragonslayer, as
well as a pair of foresters and a young, muscular squire. On one
occasion the squire had brought a basket of victuals to the cell—a
very full basket containing more foodstuffs than one man would
require for his evening meal. Hugh had waited in vain to catch a
glimpse of who was inside the cell with Tamberlane, but thus far,
had had no luck.