Master Of Surrender (25 page)

S
ometime later, when Rohan ascended the steps, the weariness he had experienced as he and his men planned for more harassment from Henri and what was left of the marauders disappeared. His blood warmed as he thought of the soft and creamy maid in his chamber. And for the first time since their return to the manor, he gave his mind over to what the seer had proclaimed. While he was not one to believe in spells and magic, he believed A’isha, and he believed Wilma. And he believed the fire that burned hot and strong in his heart for the maid upstairs. Aye, she was his destiny, and she would know it before too much more time passed.

He rubbed the scar on his chest and hastened to his chamber, where Hugh had set up his bath. He looked forward to the hot, steamy soak, but what he looked forward to more was stretching his tired limbs out beside the smooth warmth of Isabel.

When Rohan entered the room, it glowed in the low halo of firelight. The copper tub steamed near the hearth. Several tapers were lit on the cabinets. Fresh linens sat folded on a stool next to the tub. Isabel was curled up asleep in the large chair he surmised had been her father’s on the other side of the hearth.

He was careful not to disturb her. As he closed the door, Hugh materialized. Rohan shook his head, not requiring the squire’s assistance. He closed the door, bolting it. He moved quietly toward the hearth and the maid who slumbered beside it. A tenderness he had never experienced, not even for A’isha, overcame him for the brave girl. Quietly, Rohan unstrapped his sword belt and set it aside. He continued to undress. Once free of all clothing, he stepped into the tub and sank into the welcoming water. As he rested back against the rim, Rohan let out a long, heavy sigh. He closed his eyes for several long moments, and when he opened them, he found two of the most mesmerizing eyes softly watching him.

His belly made a funny quivering movement. He scowled, not liking the feelings infusing him at that moment. Isabel smiled and began to rise from her seat. “Nay, Isabel, rest. I will see to my bath.” When she sank back into the upholstered chair, he let out a long breath of relief. The way he was feeling at the moment, if she so much as touched him, he would come apart at the seams. And while he intended to keep to their bargain and indulge in that ripe body of hers, he wanted so much more.

As he washed and then rinsed himself, Isabel’s gaze never once left him. Finally, feeling most uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he demanded, “What ails you, woman?”

She smiled and shook her head and continued to watch him. When Rohan stood to complete the rinse, she boldly refused to cast her gaze away. He rose hot and thick before her. “Do you desire me, Isa, as much as I desire you?”

With no hesitation, she nodded. Rohan growled and stepped from the tub, not caring that he dripped water over the rugs. He strode to Isabel and swooped her up in his arms. He carried her to the bed, where his body followed hers into the thick fur pelts. He dug his fingers deep into her damp hair, and before he pressed his lips to hers, his gaze scoured her face for protest. He found none. “Isa,” he breathed, “what spell have you cast upon me?” Not waiting for an answer, his lips descended onto hers, and he felt her, warm and pliant, open up to him. He took everything she offered.

His head spun as her fingers dug deep into his hair and she pulled him tighter against her. Her body arched, the hard tips of her breasts digging into his bare chest. A hot, crazy sexual inferno engulfed Rohan, and suddenly he could not get enough of her. He tore his lips from hers. His hand pulled at her shift, ripping it in half, exposing the most glorious breasts he had ever laid eyes on. Voraciously, he plundered them with his mouth.

Isabel squirmed and arched, pressing her body hotly against his. As if he were drunk, his eyelids were hooded, his limbs became heavy, his head swirled. His loins filled with hot blood. He would have her this night and every night thereafter.

“Isa,” he breathed against a nipple, his breath ragged, “you make me forget everything.”

She moaned in response, and when she slid her hand down the hardness of his belly to his rigid cock and wrapped her hands around him, Rohan shuddered against her. “Jesu, Isa, you make me insane.”

He moved his hand down to cover hers, and in unison they moved up and down the thickness of him. His hips undulated against her belly. Their hot, moist breaths mingled. In one great thrust, unable to contain himself, Rohan spilled his seed into her hand. He groaned, his body stiffening as she pumped him, milking him dry of all his seed. When he shuddered against her for the last time, Isabel scooted out from under him. She grabbed a linen from the stand next to the bed and wiped herself clean, then him.

Rohan, while sated for the moment, was not done with her. He pushed her back onto the pillows. “Isa, ’tis not what I wanted.” He kissed her long and deep, and his hands traveled down her belly to her soft curls. Isabel moaned beneath his lips. When he dipped a thick finger into her waiting wetness, she cried out, arching toward him. “Let me make love to you,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me love you all night long.”

His lips traveled from her lips to her chin, and then he pressed them to her throat. His hand moved slowly back and forth, the sheen of sweat erupted on Isabel’s skin, and the sultry scent of her sex swirled in the air, heightening Rohan’s senses. His lips tasted each pink-tipped nipple, and when he pressed his lips to her belly, Isabel hissed in a breath.

She felt as if she were caught up in a wild, wanton vortex. The heat and velocity of Rohan’s assault made Isabel forget herself. All she wanted was total consummation. He moved another finger into her, and the slick sound of her juice as she moaned and thrust against his hand added more fuel to her out-of-control flame. When he nuzzled her mound, Isabel stiffened in shock. “Relax, Isa,” he softly said, the percussion of his breath against her swollen lips driving her mad with want. “Let me love you this way.” Slipping his fingers from her before she could answer, his tongue breached the seam between her loins. Isabel strained against him. As his tongue lapped her there, his fingers swirled slowly around her creamy, straining nub, and the wave she had craved emerged, gaining full force with exhilarating quickness. He suckled her nub, and with his middle finger, he pressed deep into her, tapping that sweet spot. In one liquid wave, she came into his mouth. Grabbing his hair, she trembled beneath him and truly thought she had died and gone to heaven. As each spasm wracked her straining, sweaty body, Isabel cried out.

When he took all of her into his mouth and suckled her nether lips and nub, she lost all control. Her thighs fell wide open, and her hands slipped from his hair. She lay hot, wet, and panting, cradled in the fur pelts, unable to catch a decent breath. Her chest heaved as she sought to breathe a regular breath. Rohan moved back up her belly, his long hair trailing softly against her sensitive skin, heightening her experience. When he kissed her, she tasted herself and nearly died of shame, but he did not give her the chance to dwell on it. His shaft had filled and pressed against her moist curls.

Isabel shook her head against the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. If she looked at him, she would not be able to resist the call of his eyes.

He pressed the head of his cock to her thigh. “Allow me entrance, Isabel.’”

She moaned and shook her head. Though her hips moved against his and her breasts quivered wanting his touch once again, she could not.

He pressed her, his hot breath mingled with hers. Isabel opened her eyes and gasped. Rohan’s eyes burned with the brightness of a thousand suns. His wide, muscular shoulders hovered over her. His dark hair shrouded him, reminding her of a fallen angel.

She opened her mouth to deny him, but no words came forth. A terrible battle raged. Her desire and, yes, her love for this man wreaked havoc with her morality. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Nay, Rohan, you cannot.”

If ’twere possible, his body stiffened further to steel. She felt him tremble against her. But he did not press her. Instead, he moved to her side, releasing her from his touch. Though he lay only inches from her, she felt as if he were leagues away. Her body yearned to follow his, to give him what they both so desperately wanted. But she could not do it. The thought of him casting her aside after he had what he wanted from her tore through her with unimagined pain, and just as harsh was the vision of her begging in the streets of Alethorpe with his bastard strapped to her breast.

Isabel took several minutes to collect herself. She wanted him to understand, she needed him to. Finally, after long drawn-out moments, her body was once again quiet and free of the liquid desire for the man lying beside her. She rolled over to find him facing her, his eyes bright in the firelight. He looked not angry but perplexed.

“Rohan,” she began softly, not trusting her voice. Her emotion ran high, and she felt once again as if she would burst into tears. When he did not respond, she scooted closer and reached out to press her hand to his chest. He flinched and pushed her away. “Do not touch me, Isabel. I cannot control my body.”

She closed her eyes and sank back into the furs. Taking a big, deep gulp of breath, she continued. “’Tis the same with me, Rohan.”

“Then why do you deny me?”

She let out another long, pensive breath. If she told him of her fear of him casting her aside, he would deny it and promise the moon to get between her thighs. ’Twas what men did, was it not?

She smiled sadly. Mayhap, but not Rohan. He did not strike her as the type to play a man or a woman false. He told her days ago there would be another after her. So instead of delving into emotions where he would think she held a love for him and mayhap use it against her, Isabel gave Rohan a reason he could respect and, more than that, relate to. “The man I give myself to will be my husband. No bastards will I bear.”

He moved toward her, careful not to touch. “Would my bastard displease you much, Isabel?”

She swallowed hard. For if the truth be told, she would welcome his child, but not the unhappiness that would follow for the babe.

He pressed his hand to her belly and spread his big fingers across her. Her skin immediately warmed. “We would make lusty sons together, Isabel. And daughters full of the same fire as their mother.”

Isabel closed her eyes, and her heart rose high in her throat. She pressed both of her hands to his. “I believe you,” she whispered. He moved over her and pressed his lips to hers.

“The prophecy marks you as the womb to bear my sons, Isa. I would have no other.”

Had he gotten down on one knee and professed his love to her, she could not have been more shocked. Fear gripped her. Fear of the power of love, fear of conceiving his child, fear of Henri and Arlys, and fear of the unknown. Her destiny was not in her hands but in God’s, and she feared he had more heartache in store for her. She could not bear it with a bastard child and no husband to support her.

“What the old woman said today was addled prattling.”

“Nay, Isabel, it was foretold by a seer in Iberia. Wilma only reminded me of my destiny here in England.”

Isabel’s eyes flashed open in disbelief. Rohan smiled and lay back on the pillows, drawing her with him. “’Tis the truth.” As she settled against him, he pulled the torn shift from underneath them. He held it up and looked at her. “Methinks I owe you several of these.”

She swatted him. “And a gown or two.”

He tossed the torn garment over the side of the bed and pulled her tighter against him. “I will press you no further, Isabel. Our bargain is met.” He closed his eyes, and Isabel went still.

His disclosure should have elated her. It had the opposite effect. She had grown accustomed in this short time to his warm and powerful body beside her in the bed. She drew strength from it. She slept soundly knowing he would protect her from any intruder save illness.

Her mind ran out of control with scenarios of who would next share this great bed with the Norman lord. Would it be Deidre? Or would he go to William’s court and bring back a titled Norman heiress?

His arm tightened around her as if he read her disturbing thoughts. She sighed and loosened her body, molding it tighter to his. He had said he believed the prophecy. Even if she did not, he was convinced she was the only woman to bear him sons. With that small comfort, she drifted off into a troubled sleep. Visions of Henri standing over his dying brother with his sword raised high in the afternoon sunlight, Rohan’s blood dripping from it, interrupted her slumber. Visions of Wilma cackling and telling Isabel she had made a mistake, that it was the noble-born brother she was to couple with and spill his sons on English soil. She tossed and turned, throwing the pelt from her body. Each time, Rohan pulled her into his arms and soothed her with his kisses and caresses.

Isabel woke to thundering on the door. Rohan was up, sword drawn, demanding to know who dared interrupt his sleep. “’Tis I, Rohan. We have visitors. Come at once.”

Rohan lowered his sword and pulled open the door. “Who?”

Thorin did not look into the chamber, but his dire eyes looked at his longtime friend. “’Tis a standard bearing a red fox on a green plain.”

Isabel gasped, and both men turned to her. “’Tis Arlys.”

Rohan scowled heavily and turned back to his friend. “See that he and his men are disarmed. I will be down directly.”

As he shut the door, Isabel slid from the bed. “I will go as well.”

Rohan strode past her to the bucket of water warming near the fire. He poured half of it into a bowl and cooler water from the pitcher. Quickly, he washed and dressed. Isabel washed the sleep from her own face and the overnight taste from her mouth, and she, too, quickly dressed.

“I would prefer you wait for me here. I know not what your betrothed is about. I have much suspicion of him.”

“I have my own suspicions. And like you, I wish to know what he seeks.”

She helped him don his mail, and as he strapped on his sword belt, she searched the room for her shoes. Finding them under a bench, she hastily donned them.