KNIGHT OF SECRETS (Knights of Passion Series 2) (2 page)

His gaze rose to hers and for a moment they did nothing but stare at each other. She felt her heart begin to beat in a long, slow rhythm. She felt her skin grow warm and sensitized. Edwina knew then that she wanted the stranger to hold her, to kiss her mouth and show her the pleasure two young and healthy bodies could create between them.

Perhaps he read her wishes in her eyes.

“You are beautiful, Edwina,” he said softly. He stroked a finger down her cheek, to the corner of her mouth. Then down to her jaw and further, to her throat. He brushed the backs of his fingers across her skin, finally resting them in the hollow there, where her pulse beat faster.

“I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you,” he said, his voice deep and dreamy. “You should not be here in the wilderness. You should be where people can see and admire you.” His dark eyes examined the shape of her breasts hidden within her gown, and she thought for a moment he was going to cup them in his hands. She ached for him to do so.

“I have no choice but to be here,” she said, and her voice sounded breathless. “My brother took me in and now keeps me close. He wishes to win favour with Sir Jerome, our neighbour, and now I am to wed him to help my brother’s ambitions.”

He looked at her with horror. “Have you no say in the matter?”

Edwina shook her head and bitterness curled her lips.

“You need a champion,” he added, and now the stare he gave her was assessing. “Someone to take your part and protect you.”

Edwina wondered what he was thinking. Did he plan to make her his mistress? Would she like that, or would she find that situation as controlling as her present one?

“I’d prefer my freedom and independence,” she said tartly. “I want the money that my father left to me in my own hands and not my brother’s or my husband’s.”       

Surprised, he laughed. Of course he would. Women were chattels, things to be used and discarded, and no one expected them to take their fate in their own hands.

She turned away from him and picked up her pot of healing balm and when she turned back to him again she had become practical. She smoothed some of the balm upon the cut, finding pleasure in her work.

“You will heal quickly and well and there will barely be a scar to show where you were injured this day.”

“Perhaps I would like a scar. Then I will look like a proper warrior.”

She shook her head. “You are a handsome man and such things matter.”

He smiled. “Thank you,” he said. Then added, “Edwina,” his voice dropping in a manner that brought gooseflesh to her skin. He reached out and took her hand, brushing the back of it with his lips. She tried not to shiver but pleasure arced through her at his touch.

The sly little voice was back in her head. She would be spending a lifetime wedded to Sir Jerome. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself this once? He was a stranger in a dangerous situation, who would leave as abruptly as he had come and no one would know or care, but she would have the memories forever. Was this what the spell had brought her? Not to be saved in the way she’d expected but to step out of her troubles for a short while?

He’d turned her hand over now and pressed his mouth to her palm, his breath warm against her flesh. She looked down at his bent head, at his dark hair and the broad shoulders beneath the fine cloth of his tunic. If she had to choose a man to lie with her then this man was perfect.

“You are very bold, sir,” she said.

He looked up at her through his lashes and his dark eyes gleamed. “Your beauty makes me bold, lady.”

Doubt sprang to her mind. Perhaps he wasn’t noble after all but just an adventurer. But then again what did that matter? It would be a brief encounter while the Scots dallied outside.

She needed to think. She needed to plan. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“We should go up to the tower now,” she said briskly, gathering up the candle.

He tried not to look disappointed, bowing his head in acquiescence. Edwina hid her smile.  

The steps to the tower were narrow and they climbed single file. She went first with the light of the candle to guide her and she sensed his gaze on her back, on her hips beneath her gown. She thought, if she turned, she would see that gleam in his dark eyes again. She allowed herself to sway more than usual, as if his stare had freed her from any constraints she might otherwise have had.

Edwina was a desirable woman and she was enjoying his attention.

She smiled, glancing back. “Here we are.”  

At the head of the stairs was a small tower room where it was possible to look out on all sides, through narrow slitted windows. A crossbow rested in the corner, with a goodly amount of arrows, in case they were needed to discourage their unwelcome visitors.

Edwina set the candle carefully down and went to the window slit to peer out through the night’s darkness.

Below her she could see the Scots had made a fire and were standing about it, arguing. They were bare legged beneath their kilts and their skin looked raw and cold. Behind her she felt the warmth of the stranger and then his breath upon her cheek as he leaned over her shoulder to peer down.

“They have not gone,” he said and she could hear he was disappointed. “Why do they linger?”

“Perhaps they think you a prize worth lingering for,” she remarked, wondering what he would say to that.

He said nothing, his gaze fixed on the men below.

“Are you a prize worth lingering for?”

He shrugged, glancing at her sideways.

“I have told you my name,” she reminded him a little impatiently.

His mouth quirked up and his dark eyes slid to hers. There were flecks of gold in them, she noticed. Her heart began a slow, heavy thudding, and she knew she should move away but the feeling of being so close was intoxicating.

“My name is Hadden,” he said. He reached to stroke his fingertip down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She felt her blood beating and his finger found the pulse in her throat, stroking it gently there, making her dizzy with a longing that was growing by the moment.

Below them the Scots yelled out, one pushing the other to the ground, and Edwina and
Hadden turned to stare, breaths held. The other Scots held the aggressor back and after a moment the fallen man climbed to his feet, brushing the snow from his clothing.

“They argue among themselves,”
Hadden said. “That is good. Let them kill each other and leave us alone.”

“What will happen if they stay?” Edwina asked.

“Then I will stay.”

He was so close. She need only move a fraction and their lips would touch. She felt her body grow warm and eager, urging her to make that move.
A step, a lift of her face to his. She felt his hands resting on her shoulders, and then his mouth brushed against her like soft moth wings, but it was enough to send her emotions catapulting.

“Should I stop, lady?” he asked huskily. His hands slid down her arms, finding her hands and bringing them up to his chest, still enclosed in his. She freed them, pressing her palms to his tunic, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the cloth. His mouth brushed hers again and she gasped, opening her lips to the tip of his tongue.

The Scots were below, with all the danger their presence held for her, and perhaps that was part of the eagerness she felt for this man, this stranger. They may be dead in an hour, a day. What did it matter what she chose to do in this moment?

“No,” she managed, pressing closer. “Don’t stop.”

His mouth claimed hers now with passion, and she was in his arms, enjoying the heady feeling of his caresses. His tongue darted between her lips, stroking hers, and she clung closer. Her body was afire.

Outside there was a thud and the smell of burning.
Hadden pulled away with a curse, turning to the window. Slowly, feeling dazed, Edwina followed.

There was an arrow, with a burning cloth wrapped around its head, lying upon the steep pitch of the roof. The fire was already going out, dampened by the snow and the cold.

Edwina gave a sigh of relief. If the Scots thought they could burn them out then they were mistaken. All the same, she looked toward the flag. “I think we should put it up now,” she said. “Even if no one comes the Scots might think they will.”

“Let’s give it a try,”
Hadden agreed.

The flag was in a wooden chest against the wall and Edwina attached it to the rope on the flagpole;
Hadden began to haul the flag upwards with the rope, through the gap in the roof of the tower, to the very top of the pole. He paused and took off his tunic, which was restricting his movements, and completed the task in his shirt sleeves.

Edwina watched him, admiring the tightening of the muscles in his arms and shoulders, imagining that body lying upon hers, her hands smoothing his flesh. Her own body was ready for his and she had to resist the urge to touch her breasts or rub her hand between her legs. She had done these things before in her lonely bed but never had the feelings been so intense.

The air outside was still and cold and the white flag hung forlornly against the night sky. Edwina had her doubts anyone would notice it but at least there was a chance it might persuade the Scots to go away.

Hadden
was at the window again. The Scots had begun to cook something in a pot they’d unloaded from one of their horses. Their hair was wild, as wild as their natures, she suspected, and shuddered.

A warm arm slipped about her shoulders and suddenly she was held against his hard, muscular body. “They’ll leave soon enough,” his voice soothed. “And until then I will protect you, Edwina.”

Edwina smiled and glanced up at him through her lashes. She rested her hand upon his arm, feeling the hard muscle there, and then she allowed her hand to stroke upwards to his shoulder, to the curls of hair that lay against his neck. He was watching her, that gleam in his eyes again.

“Do you have a bed?” he said bluntly.

Startled her eyes flew to his and she wondered if she should take offence, but her body was thrumming with desire and she knew this was what she wanted too.

“Downstairs,” she said.

He followed her. “Are we alone?”

“Yes.”

He grunted. “Good.”

The bed was her brother’s; it was the finest in the manor house and she climbed upon it and sat smiling at him as he stripped off his shirt. His hands rested on the waist of his trousers but he hesitated. “Are you a virgin bride?” he asked her curiously.

Edwina wondered what he would prefer but in the end she told him the truth. “Yes.”

“And this Sir Jerome?
Is he likely to come after me?” But he said it in a way that made her laugh, as if he wasn’t in the least bit afraid of Jerome.

He reached out to cup her cheek and then his mouth was on hers again and she fell backwards into the softness of the feather mattress. It was bliss the way his mouth clung to hers, and now he was squeezing her breasts, caressing the hard nubs of her nipples, creating a wave of pleasure throughout her body.

She moaned when his hand slid under her skirts, creeping along her bare thigh, finding the slick place where she had run her own hands many times, desperate for some pleasure in this barren place. He knew what he was doing, she could tell that. The way he stroked the pearl he found there, the clever pressure he placed upon her.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh please,” she whispered.

He chuckled and brought her to her climax with a deft twist of his fingers.

Edwina lay shuddering, her heart thudding, her breathing harsh. It had been delightful but she wanted more than that. She wanted him. She reached out and stroked the bulge in his trousers.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Quickly he divested himself of the rest of his clothing and she saw his cock spring up eagerly against his belly. Long and thick, it promised her much pleasure and Edwina caressed him with her fingertips.

“Are you sure you are a virgin bride?”
Hadden was frowning.

Edwina felt a spurt of anger.
“Of course. It is just . . . Sir Jerome is old and fat and I want to lie with a young and handsome man, someone I can dream of in the years to come. I want to do everything I will never do with him.”

He was flattered by that.

“Oh lady, I will certainly please you.” He was unlacing her clothing, and she arched against his lips and his hands. His thigh rested between hers and she rubbed against it, eager for the burst of pleasure he’d already given her. He reached down to stroke her again, and then his cock was nudging between her swollen lips, pressing to her maidenhead.

“You will ache for a moment,” he said, his voice low and breathless, as if holding himself back was not easy for him.
“Lady?”

She nodded eagerly and stretched up to kiss his mouth. The kiss grew hot and passionate and during it he breeched her maidenhead, making her gasp with the burn, but it soon faded and she lifted her hips as he began to push deeper inside her. The fullness was pleasurable and when he moved and reached down to add pressure to her pearl, she found herself moaning aloud.