Erinsong (20 page)

He was playing anything but
rough now, Brenna thought. Pressed against his chest, buoyed by
the
light current, she’d never felt such
safety, such peace. When she looked up at him, his features were
marred
with concern.

“I’m fine,” she said. “No harm done.”

One corner of his mouth
turned up. “No harm,” he repeated. “You scared me to death. But if
that’s what it took to get you
into my
arms naked, it was worth it.”

Brenna blinked. She
was
in his arms naked.
They floated together, skin on skin, her taut nipples
graz
ing his chest, his erection hard
against her flat belly, and—miracle of miracles—she wasn’t
afraid.

She turned her face up to
him, inviting him. He an
swered her
summons by covering her mouth with his. Her whole world turned warm
and liquid.

When he released her, she smiled up at him
with promise.

“Aye, ‘tis worth it.”

The cool of the brook, the
heat of his mouth, the way his hands slid over her skin, Brenna was
drowning in
a steady stream of new
sensations. Together she and Jorand rolled beneath the rippling
water, locked in a
kiss so sweet, she’d
rather have died than break it
off. Like a
pair of otters, they twisted together in
love-play.

Jorand regained his feet
and pulled her back to the
surface with
him.

“Are you sure?” he asked
intently. “I don’t think I
can bear it if
... I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop
again if this goes much further.”

Ye swore before God
Almighty to give the man your
body, and by
all that’s holy, ye must honor your oath.

Her father’s admonition
rang in her head. Some
how the prospect of
joining with this man, this hus
band of
hers, seemed less daunting than before.
Especially since Jorand’s kiss roused such aching
need.
She’d feared passion before, maybe
even more than her dread of the pain of coupling, afraid of dancing
too close to the
flames. Now, looking into
the cool, blue depths of Jo
rand’s eyes,
she knew he’d keep her safe, no matter what kind of madness he led
her into.

“I
don’t want ye to stop,” she said. “Not ever.”

With a groan, he clasped
her to him again and
kissed her, this time
with all the urgency of a starving
man at
a banquet.

“I don’t know what ye want
of me.” Brenna
gasped, both for lack of
air and for the tingling feel of
his mouth
on hers. “What must I do?”

“Trust me, princess. Just
trust me.” He cupped her
bottom, tugging
her closer. Brenna felt his chest swell
in
a ragged breath as he struggled to control himself.
Like one of her father’s huge workhorses in
harness, Jorand was the image of bridled strength.

“Be easy now,” he whispered into her ear, his
breath sending tendrils of pleasure down her neck, “and let the
water bear you up.”

He lifted her gently,
hooking an arm under each knee. Under his direction, she circled
his waist with
her legs, then released her
hold on his shoulders, letting him guide her. Lying back in the
water, her hair
floated around her, gently
swaying in the current, tickling her bare skin.

She puzzled over what might
come next. Since
she’d given him her word
not to stop, Jorand seemed
intent on
taking his time.

“What a wonder you are, Brenna,” he said, his
voice husky with desire. “I never know what to expect from
you.”

“Are ye not pleased with
me, then?” She squeezed
her legs tighter
around him, reveling in the way his
eyes
widened. So, she could feed the fire in him, too.
The knowledge gave her a little thrill of power.
“Would ye rather I finish me bath and go tend
the
supper?”

“Let it burn,” he said hoarsely as his gaze
devoured her. He slid his hands over her hips, up past her waist,
to trail lazy circles around her breasts. “You’re so fair,
princess.”

She forced herself not to
try to cover her nakedness
and hide from
his admiring eyes. His earnest expres
sion
made her feel his words were true. She
was
fair.
If the hunger in his face was any measure, she was downright
beautiful and she felt it.

Brenna closed her eyes and
let her arms float away
above her head,
secure in knowing he held her safely.

His fingers sent swirls of
pleasure over her as he
explored her body,
tracing the curve of her belly and
skimming along the underside of each breast. Her nipples
hardened, aching for his touch as his hand danced past
them.

“You’re soft as silk, you know,” Jorand
said.

“What’s silk?” Brenna caught her lower lip
with her teeth, fighting against the urge to bring her own hands to
her throbbing bosom. Anything to still the bewildering need.

“Silk is a fabric so fine,
it feels like water on your
skin.” He
lifted his hand and let droplets patter down
onto her belly, then returned to graze her breasts
with
his fingertips.

“Then by those lights,
we’re neither of us naked,
we’re wrapped
in this silk ye speak of.” She squirmed,
trying to position her nipples into the path of his
hands.

“What do you want, Brenna?”
His voice sounded
far away, muffled by the
stream.

“Everything.” She released
a shuddering sigh when he finally captured a breast and massaged
its
swollen tip. Her eyes flew open and
she searched his
face, satisfied with the
acceptance and encourage
ment she saw in
his heavy-lidded eyes.

He was leading her into a
strange new country and she followed willingly, surrendering to his
hands, his
voice, the growing maelstrom of
delight sweeping
her up. There was no
pain. No fear. Only him.

“Oh!” She moaned when his
thumbs found the
soft crevice on the
inside of her thighs. Her mind spi
raled,
as though she were floating away from her body. She needed to focus
on something or she’d
burst right out of
her skin. “Tell me more of this thing
called silk.”

One corner of his mouth
turned up in a knowing grin. “They say it’s spun by magic in far
away
Cathay, the weaving done in greatest
secrecy.”

Given the wild surges of bliss his hands sent
through her, she wouldn’t have doubted him if he claimed to have
produced the wonderment of silk out of pure air. “Where did ye see
this miraculous cloth?”

A shadow passed over his
features and Brenna
wished she hadn’t
asked. Obviously, a partial memory
had
broken through, but not enough for him to answer her
question.

“Don’t know, and right now
I don’t much care.” He teased the curling hairs between her legs.
“But I
know I’ve run a bolt of silk
through my fingers and it
doesn’t begin to
match you for softness.”

What is he doing to me with
those fine clever hands
of his?

It was the last coherent
thought Brenna mustered
as Jorand claimed
her secret place, gently exploring
and
stroking. A surge of warmth flooded her belly, a
deep rhythmic throb begging for ... what? She had
no answer for this need building inside her. She
could only trust him to lead her aright and if
she but
yielded to his touch, all would be
well.

But oh! How
her insides twisted into knots. She was wound
tighter than a spool of new yarn.

Brenna arched her back, thrusting her hips up
to him, heedless of the way it forced her head beneath the surface
of the water.

“Ho, now, none of that,” he said, pulling her
upright.

“Ye’re not stopping, are
ye?” She bit back a groan
of
frustration.

“No fear of that,” he
promised. “We just need a
change of
scenery.”

He gathered her up as if
she weighed less than an
armful of posies
and climbed out of the stream.

“What of our clothes?” Brenna asked as he
swept her past the discarded piles.

“Don’t worry.” He gave her
a squeeze. “They’ll
be there when we have
need of them again.”

As he carried her through
the deep woods, she rested her head against his chest, listening to
the banging of his heart. She smiled, realizing her own
was doing a considerable jig as well. The heat of
the
day had dissipated and the evening air
was cool on
her wet skin. But the fresh
green breeze did nothing
to quench the
fire rampaging through her loins.

Jorand laid her down
beneath the lean-to he’d fashioned, settling her on his capacious
cloak that
covered a nest of pine boughs.
She sank into the fra
grant bower, letting
her gaze rove over the body of her husband.

Husband.
Bathed in Jorand’s tender caring, she was
pleased to be his if only it meant he’d keep
touching
her with those twice-blessed
hands of his.

But he didn’t move to stroke her again.

Instead, he stood over her,
potent and ready, his gaze traveling the length of her body,
starting with
her curled toes and finally
settling on Brenna’s eyes. The steady drumbeat in her belly started
afresh.

“Come to me, husband.” Brenna stretched her
arms toward him. “Love me.”

He covered her body with
his. Brenna welcomed the weight of him, thrusting her hips up to
meet his,
glorying in his hardness against
her softness.

“Brenna.” He breathed the
name into her neck, then began trailing feather-soft kisses from
her ear
lobe to the hollow at the base of
her throat.

All the tender, sensitive
places his hands had invaded, his mouth now conquered. He covered
her breasts with kisses and when he finally took an aching nipple
between his lips, she cried out for the
joy of it. A jolt of desire shook her as she felt the
inner
connectedness of her breasts and her
throbbing
womb. With each suckle, the
tremor of a contraction
deep inside
flooded her with need.

Jorand trailed his mouth down her ribs,
stopping to tease her navel with his tongue. Brenna felt she’d
crumble to bits in anticipation, but in anticipation of what she
had no idea.

“What in the name of all
the holy angels are ye do
ing to me?” she
gasped.

“Loving you, princess. Just loving you.”

Then he gently parted the
delicate folds between
her legs and
claimed her with his mouth.

“Mercy,” she breathed.

“I have none,” he answered and returned to
sweetly savaging her.

All semblance of control
fled and Brenna quivered
with wanting. She
felt as if she were being pulled into
a
long, dark tunnel. She heard someone moan and
re
alized without shame that it was her.
Brenna knew she was naked before him, but Jorand was stripping her
soul bare as well.

And she didn’t care a whit.

Part of her training with
Father Michael included
learning to create
the decorative patterns that curved
and
swirled in never ending convolutions. Now, her insides were more
twisted upon themselves than the
most
intricate interlace she’d ever designed on vel
lum. Tighter and tighter, the knot curled in on itself,
stretching Brenna thinner than the finest parchment.
She drew a ragged breath. Downward she spiraled
in
an agony of need.

Then, suddenly, the knot
shattered in a blinding wave of pleasure, followed hard on by
another roll
ing spasm of bliss. Her body
bucked with the force of
her release as
the contractions continued to suffuse her with delight. As dark as
the tunnel had seemed
when she was
traveling along that bewildering corri
dor, she was now bathed in warmth and light, hearing nothing
but the siren song of joy.

When she finally returned
to a sense of herself, she
was aware that
Jorand had snugged in close beside
her,
his hand splayed possessively over her heart.

“Is all well with you, princess?”

She rolled her eyes at him
and sighed. “Aye, entirely and completely well, as if ye didn’t
know it.”
She traced a finger over his
cheek and jaw, amazed at
what he had done
with just his two clever hands and
blessed
sweet mouth. “I thought for a moment the angels had come to carry
me to heaven. I had no idea a
Finn-Gall
demon such as yourself
could do it as well.”