Godiva: Unbridled (4 page)

“Niklada seems happy here, if a little restless.” She turned and walked toward her horse, who stood in her box stall on the other side of the barn.

“Oh, she’s doing just fine,” Thomas replied, following her. “I let her out into the field for a little while every day, but the fence has some spots that she could get out, and I didn’t want her getting any ideas.” The horse turned at the sound of her mistress’s voice and whinnied. May reached out to stroke her face. “Thank you, for the food,” she said, not looking at Thomas. “And for rescuing me and Niklada. I don’t know what would have happened to us had you not come along.”

“It’s been a pleasure. I’ve been lonely here with nobody around since my master left. My uncle doesn’t like me much so I’m often left on my own. I’m glad to have the company. And of such a lovely guest.” May looked down, hiding her smile.

“Let’s take her for a walk around the field before it gets dark. I don’t think I can ride her just yet, but I’d like to walk with her. Is that okay?”

“Anything you wish.”

They walked around the field, and Thomas recounted how he had discovered her, lying among the ivy and wildflowers, how the horse had seemed to stand guard over her and how he might not have found her so easily without such a landmark standing close by. Throughout all this, May had tiny flashes of memory, images of riding her horse, of looking over her shoulder, a stab of panic that she couldn’t quite identify. But none of it was enough to piece together a chain of thoughts that made any sense. When they came back around where they could view the fruit trees that she had seen earlier, she paused, staring at them again.

“What’s that, over there?” she asked, pointing in the direction where she looked.

“That’s the orchard. The very place that I found you lying in the ivy. Do you remember it?”

She stared, frozen and lost and above all else, too terrified to move. The vacant space on the hill was nothing more than sparsely planted trees and open space, a low stone wall off to the left, but she could so easily put an image of Niklada standing there, munching on fallen fruit as she stood over her fallen rider. She felt Thomas rearrange the shawl around her shoulders and put his arm around her and only then did she realize that she was trembling.

“Are your memories returning, my lady?” She shook her head and tore her gaze away, unexpected tears now sliding down her face.

“No, I don’t remember. I only can picture it so clearly.”

“Let’s not linger, then. You’ve done a lot today. Enough, I think.” Thomas’ hand cupped her face, his rough finger wiping away her tears. “Let’s get back inside.” She turned to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling small and frail against his sturdy strength and suddenly he lifted her into his arms, and carried her like a frightened child back into the barn, leading Niklada alongside them.

The sun had set and clouds moved in over the horizon. By the time they’d made it back to the barn, the wind whistled a threatening hiss through the trees and the tall grass. On the other side of the barn, the shutters clacked restlessly, and as May settled the horse back in her box, Thomas went around latching all the windows and securing the doors. He stoked the fireplace, adding another log and opened a heavy wooden chest, pulling out a stack of blankets. She noticed he’d stacked more hay bales on the opposite side of the room and he set the blankets atop them, and that made her realize he meant to sleep there himself. While the bed she’d lain in since she’d been there was near to the fireplace and warm in its alcove, he’d been sleeping in the open, and now with the wind of the storm sneaking its way through every crack and crevice, it would be just slightly better as sleeping outside.

“You can’t sleep over there, so far from the fireplace,” she said.

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine, May. My blood runs warm.” She opened her mouth to protest but didn’t know what else to say, so she watched him as he made up the bed, then came over to where she stood beside her horse. As he passed her, she caught his hand and abruptly, he stopped. She looked up into the bright pools of his eyes and kissed him, direct on the mouth. Instinct compelled her; she hadn’t thought or even meant to do that exactly. She just felt like she had to. Though startled, he returned the kiss, soft and supple, his lips full and warm. Her hand tightened around his and she pressed into him, the fabric of her gown feeling suddenly very thin and sheer through the shawl and against his chest. Leaning deeper into the kiss, an anxious tightness seeped through her, then all at once he pulled back.

A moment passed before she spoke and then she fluttered her lashes at him and said, “That’s to thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“It’s my pleasure and honor to do so,” he replied roughly, and though a smile flickered over his face, he turned from her, walking unevenly, across the barn and to his makeshift bed.

Chapter 5

The lightening flashed, its dazzling brightness finding the seams and spaces in the walls and windows. In the distance, thunder grumbled, uneven, low and ominous. Rain had started, at first a tentative patter on the roof, but now more insistent, no pattern or tempo, simply a steady stream of water pelting the earth. May had awakened at the first distant rumbling of the thunder, and now with every irregular flash of light, her breath caught in her throat. She had never been through a storm such as this. And yet, weather happened, didn’t it? So what was her life, that she never experienced it, that she was so thoroughly sheltered from the elements? Across the room, Thomas breathed deeply and rhythmically, sleeping sound despite the storm outside. Finally the thunder growled just outside the barn door and the lightening flashed, then a crackling clap pealed through the darkness and May bolted upright in bed.

“Thomas!”

He was up in a flash. Standing, startled, at the side of his hay bales, dressed in breeches, the lacings of his shirt loosened. His silhouette appeared strong and threatening, ready to take on nature’s wrath.

“Lady?” He walked over, seeing that she was sitting up in bed. “Are you all right?” She felt all at once silly for reacting the way she had, but then another peal of thunder broke throughout the room.

“Thomas, please!” He dove across the bed, wrapping an arm across her back.

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No, no. Not hurt. Just… the storm. I’m frightened of it.” He looked puzzled in the dim light, but she was glad to see he didn’t ridicule her.

“Okay then. Since we can’t control the weather, I can at least sit here with you until it decides to pass. I wonder where you came from where you didn’t have any storms?”

“I was wondering the same thing.” She nestled under his arm, enjoying the warmth of his body against her. Having him on her bed gave her an immediate sense of intimacy, and once again, the tightness she’d felt before returned to her belly. She trailed her fingers across his chest, pressing hard against his side.

“You
are
warm,” she said, and she began to kiss his side. When she looked up to see him watching her, she moved toward him so she could kiss his lips. Again, the same supple softness of his mouth met her, but unlike hers, his desire was measured, seemed to be kept in check. She reached over, grasping his arm to pull him over her, and his weight changed just enough that she got a sense of what it would be like to have him on top of her. Her tongue slipped teasingly over his lips, darted inside his mouth, her hands wandered toward his hip. When she arched into him, he pulled back again, as he had before.

“May,” he said, his voice rough. “I cannot take advantage of a lady who knows not who she is, or where she came from. What if you have a family, a husband, who you love? How would you feel if you gave yourself to me, then remembered his face?”

She thought for a moment through her desire, frustrating as it was. He was right. How would that make her feel? Though she didn’t have any sense of devotion to some lost life that brewed beneath her clouded mind, she probably shouldn’t act quite so hastily. Just then, another clap of thunder split the room, and she clutched at him.

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” she said. “I know that you’re right, but can you stay with me, please? Just until the storm has passed?”

She rolled over, and he covered her body from behind. She could feel the length of him as it pressed against her bottom and lower back and her body reacted, sending warmth between her legs. She shut her eyes, and let her mind imagine what it would be like, to pull up her gown, move her legs just slightly, guide him to her slippery heat. Fantasies weren’t betrayal, especially if she didn’t even know if she had anyone to betray. She lulled herself to sleep with these thoughts, seeing the long, straw blonde hair falling into his face above her, as he thrust deeply against her open legs.

The low rumbling of thunder broke the placid quiet of dawn, interrupting the patter of rain on the roof of the barn, the wet splashing as it filled puddles outside. She startled at first, eyes flying open and darting around the shadowy room, then sensing the animals close by, and the warm, somehow familiar smell of hay, she felt comforted. She shut her eyes again, tried to grasp the images that had filled her dreams. Memories, she knew, but she still could not maintain a grip on them. Her own face she recognized in her dreams, even rooms in a house, grand rooms with paintings on the walls. But returning to the images in her dreams made her entire body quake with fear and instinctively, she moved closer to the sleeping form of Thomas who laid sprawled on his back next to her. In his sleep, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, giving her an immediate sense of being protected. Within a minute or two, her shivering had stopped and in the gray of dawn she studied his face. He slept in innocence, no hidden demons beneath his peaceful countenance, a hardworking young man with ambitions of pure and simple origin. The swell of his muscular chest and arms came from honest labor, not from fighting or competitive sport. She reached over, ran a gentle finger across his shoulder, down his chest, softly teasing a sleeping nipple to life under her touch. It hardened, and he stirred. He had respected her, been kind and honorable about her state of mind, had restrained himself when she would have otherwise opened herself fully to him. And now she didn’t care. He had sheltered her, comforted her and healed her. She felt connected to him somehow, and her body wanted to share what her emotions had driven her to in her dreams. Since she’d laid eyes on him, she’d dreamt of his body against hers, the crushing weight of him, the thick invasion of being filled by him. Reaching to his breeches, she loosened the laces, where his sleeping manhood lay flaccid in a nest of dark blond curls. She pushed back the blanket and slid her body across his, bent her knee over his legs and rolled atop him. As he awoke, he shifted, then his eyes opened as he realized that she lay on top of him now, her chin resting on his chest.

“My lady May,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

“What I’ve desired to do since I first saw you, Thomas. I don’t care that I don’t remember who I am. I know that right now I’m happy, and content. And I can start over here, with you. If I never remember my life before now, at least I have this.” She pushed his breeches down, hooking her foot on them as they slid off his hips and she pulled her gown up, allowing her thighs and hips to slide nakedly against him. “This seems good enough to me, for now.”

Before he could speak or protest, she moved to kiss his lips, covered his mouth with hers. He allowed her, letting her tongue explore his mouth, lap delicately against his tongue, complete the kiss with a gentle, sucking sound, then begin the ritual again. His body had already responded, his hardness pressing into her hip, the rough hairs at the base scratching teasingly against her thigh as he wriggled free of the breeches. He anchored his hands into her lower back, pressing her into him as he ground his pelvis against her. A spurt of wetness came from her swollen folds, and she moved to rub against the length of his erection. He gathered her gown, and she arched her back so he could pull it over her shoulders. Before she could come back down on him, he bent up to her, capturing a breast between his lips, sucking insistently, hands on her back and guiding her against him. Her wetness covered his length, made for a slippery temptation against her as he slid back and forth, the mushroom tip of him butting up against her bursting nub of nerves on every stroke. Still, he didn’t enter her, continued kissing and caressing her breasts, sending a tingling rush of desire from nipple to navel, then further down. She moaned, tilting her head back, tried to catch him on an outstroke, but he skillfully avoided her clumsy attempts. Finally, he drew back, away from her zinging breasts, kissed her at the top of the belly, then repositioned her hips astride him. He looked up at her, golden hair falling about her body, reached to arrange her hair around her face and paused to look into her eyes.

“Come here,” he whispered roughly, his hand on her back guiding her down to him, his deep blue eyes never losing her gaze as his other hand pressed her hip against him, thrusting ever so slowly into her heated depth, seating himself deep inside her, to the hilt. They exhaled together and she felt his stiffness thump softly inside her, felt her inner walls tighten around him, her juices flowing freely. Her eyes fluttered, still face to face with him as he watched her, drawing back then thrusting once again, this time even deeper. She giggled, and she didn’t know why. And when she opened her eyes again, his lips were spread in a gentle smile.

Her body moved on its own, with his guidance. He lay his hand flat against her belly, his thumb tickling rhythmically over her swollen bud, slippery from their lovemaking. The pressure of his palm against her pelvic bone, thumb teasing just beneath her little mound of curls, sent ebbs of pleasure right to where he touched. Her cries came quickly, sharp, almost painful pleasure exploding from the front of her pelvis all the way through to her tailbone. At the end of her cries, she grabbed his hand and stilled it, the pleasure and the pain of it mingling too acutely for her to tell the difference, her breath coming in gasps. Once the sensations had dulled, he moved slowly again, still stiff and unreleased. This time, her tension built from a different place, deeper inside, from where his thickness stretched her. And as he let her take control, bucking wildly atop him as he exploded inside her, she felt a second explosion of her own, the rippling of her walls squeezing against the pulsing of his manhood within her. At last, she collapsed against him, spent, breathless, the sheen of sweat all that covered them in the pink pale light of dawn.