Risk Everything (22 page)

Rolf grunted. His lips thinned. He answered what he knew she asked without words.

“Aye. It stood as witness that you were in my bed. In my arms. My body between your legs.” His eyes narrowed, and he added, slow and even, “My tarse embedded in you.”

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“Offal,” she shrieked. She tried to claw his face. He was too quick for her. He grasped her wrists and forced them back beside her head. She surged and bucked beneath him, fighting with all her strength. Finally, exhausted, she quieted. Seeing the anguish in her eyes, he rued every brainsick word he had uttered. How could he have said such to her?

Meghan’s eyes appeared like a wounded doe. Haunted. His heart cried out in pain, and ice-cold regret ripped at his soul.

What they had shared was beautiful. Unique. She had given him a most priceless treasure, now forever gone. On planning his revenge, he had not thought he would take an innocent.

Now, he viewed her early escapades in a different light. In Normandy he had believed her keen to tend a man’s needs.

What he judged was eagerness to dally was naught but curiosity. His heart twisted, remembering the wonder in her eyes when she exploded around him. Would she ever feel the same again?

Meghan fought the pain in her chest. A lump formed in her throat. His eyes burned like frozen ash as he stared into hers.

Rolf had deemed her a trollop. A whore.

She had deemed him a man of honor. Equal to her brother, her cousins, this man who had held her heart for a decade or more.

When she had news of his marriage, she had escaped into the forest and wept till no tears were left. From then on, no suitor appealed to her, no matter how handsome, how worthy.

She found fault with them all. They didna measure up to Rolf.

Or to the Morgans of Blackthorn.

Later, when she learned of his wife’s tragic death, she grieved for him.

All that time, he had thought basely of her. Shame filled her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought for control.

“Move from me, Rolf.” Her voice sounded huskier than usual, but at least it didna quaver overmuch. To account for the little it did, she added, “I canna breathe.” She tugged her arms, trying to free herself from his grip. He did not release her.

“Nay.” His cheek rested against hers. “Nay, lass,” he

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repeated. “We have said our vows. You are mine now. I willna release you.” He nuzzled his lips against her neck, then trailed them down and across her collarbone.

Her flesh tingled, and she jerked her head aside. “Cease. I willna play the whore to give ye ease. Go below to any who pant for yer favors.” Again she jerked hard to dislodge him.

Breasts still swollen and tender rubbed harshly against the crisp whorls of hair on his chest, and she bit her tongue at the streak of pleasure that shot through her.

He sensed it, for he glanced up at her. His eyes gleamed as he again lowered his head, and his hot mouth closed around a nipple, and his tongue stroked roughly over it. She caught her breath and shrank back from him, thinking to pull away. He did not follow but held firm, stretching the nipple. Surprise made her gasp, for it increased her pleasure. She stilled.

Finally, he lifted his head and ground his hips against her.

She bucked and writhed beneath him. She had wrestled often with the men and now did everything she could to dislodge him.

“Offal! Horse’s arse! I want none of ye.”

“Nay?” He crooked an eyebrow at her. “I think ye will.” He went on to prove it by tormenting her other breast.

Heat shot down like a bolt from her nipples to the pit of her stomach. “Lucifer’s tarse,” she shouted. “Leave me be.”

He chuckled. The vibration sent even more pleasure through his mouth to her breast. “Nay. Not Lucifer’s tarse, Meghan. ’Tis Rolf ’s tarse. Mine.” Fully aroused, he lifted his hips. The wet tip of his penis stroked against her thigh. To give her added proof, he nudged it against her opening.

Meghan bucked again. The movement caused him to enter her. He stilled and watched her. She went rigid.

“Umm. Go ahead, Meghan mine. Challenge me.” His eyes grew smokey. “I would have you no other way. ’Twould not be like you to give in easily.”

She gritted her teeth and glared up at him. Determined not to move. Not a single muscle. If she did not aid his pleasure, would he tire and leave her? Now that she had stilled, every

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sensation heightened. His scent filled her. His hair against her breast tormented her with each breath they took. The deepening color of his eyes showed that his pleasure also increased.

Saints help her! His tarse swelled with each heartbeat. She could not turn her mind from the feeling. ’Twas as if her body willed her to accept him. Her wet sheath turned to liquid fire.

She stifled a groan when her muscles contracted around the head of his tarse.

Nay! Her traitorous body tried to pull him in. He laughed.

Deep and exultant. Though he did not move his hips, he grew longer and entered deeper. How long had she held her breath? She gasped and her body moved downward, enveloping him more.

A cry of disbelief left her lips as her body continued to betray her. Her stomach jerked, her hips quivered.

With a shout of triumph, he plunged into her. She squeezed her eyes shut and arched her back. He angled his hips and followed.

A sob tore from her.

“Open your eyes, Meghan mine.” He gripped her chin.

“I am not yers.” She accented each word as she panted and glared at him. With all her strength, she fought for control.

“Aye, you are,” he whispered. “Mine.” His head swooped down, and he kissed her hungrily. “Mine,” he repeated as he increased the tempo of his thrusts. “Yield to me.”

“Nay,” she cried.

“Yield, Meghan mine,” he repeated as he thrust harder, deeper. His gaze would not release her.

She shook her head, gritted her teeth, and waged a futile war against herself.

“Yield!” His voice was a demand. He plunged deep. Filled her near to bursting, then held still.

He throbbed within her. Fire coursed through her. Lights burst before her eyes.

Wave upon wave of tumultuous ecstasy shook her. A wail escaped her lips. His back arched. Every muscle in his body quivered as he held still through each spasm of her body.

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Finally, he threw back his head and freed his own stormy climax.

Meghan panted, exhausted. Tears slipped between her closed lids and slid down her cheek. Mayhap she was a strumpet that he could force such an unwilling response from her?

He pressed his face there between her neck and shoulder and gasped. Moments later, he took a great breath as his tarse slipped from her. He rolled to his side, put his arms around her, and pulled her tight against his sweating flesh.

Rolf pulled her head to rest beneath his chin. Tears slid from her tightly closed eyes to fall on his chest. Pangs of re-morse snaked their strangling arms around his heart. Her defiance had so aroused him that he had determined to have her desperate and begging for release.

She had fought him valiantly. She had not begged.

He had fought her, had given her no quarter.

She was no match for him, for his experience.

“Shh, Meghan mine. ’Tis no shame you should feel.” He thought back on the years afore. “Always we have had this between us. Something has sparked and driven us both to fight it. You couldna win against it.”

With gentle hands, he rubbed her back while her body shook with silent sobs. She who never cried.

He kissed her and sought to soothe her anguish.

“Shh, love.” He squeezed his eyes tight to deny the sudden moisture spilling there. Murmuring words he never thought to use, soothing words, nonsense words, he nuzzled his face in her hair and clutched her tight to his heart.

Chapter 17

The feeling of triumph eluded Rolf. Long after Meghan slept, he held her. The night air turned chill, and she burrowed closer. Her hand searched up his chest to the side of his head till her fingers felt his long hair. She grasped it tight, then stilled. She sighed, satisfied.

A cold gust of wind caused her to shiver. Reluctant to wake her, he could not rise to reach the wool blanket at the foot of the bed. With his foot, he rooted around until he caught the edge of the blanket on his toes. Moving slow and easy, he bent his leg. When his knee neared his chest, he spied smears of blood on his thigh.

He needed no reminder she had come to him a virgin. How had he been such a fool to believe she was not?

He answered his own question—her bold behavior in Normandy had deceived him.

But Normandy was not the first time Meghan had engaged in untoward escapades. She was but ten and three the spring he had visited Blackthorn. He and Connor had come in from the training field and joined the warriors in their quarters. As Rolf stood in the doorway and looked over the room, something seemed odd.

He eyed a squire who edged backward toward him. He frowned, for the lad’s shoulders were too narrow, the legs slender, and shapely hips rode below the belt. The squire’s soft body bumped back into his own solid mass. The lad squealed.

Squealed?

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The youth froze and seemed to think he had backed into the doorway. A hand reached back to search the wood frame.

What it found was Rolf ’s hard thigh. The lad snatched his hand back and tried to edge away. Rolf propelled the culprit through the doorway and out into the bailey. He guided him to the foot of the stairs and spun the youth to face him. ’Twas the first time he had seen Meghan in pilfered clothing.

“Bloody saints! What are you doing mingling with the men? Nay, dinna bother to answer.” Eyeing her frightened expression, he pointed to the castle stairway and shouted, “Go.”

She sprinted away so fast she needed to grab the hat confining her long hair. Rolf returned and motioned Connor to follow. By the time they reached Meghan’s room, he had told Connor what he had found.

She did not deny she was curious about the men and how they lived. In fact, she turned to her brother and whispered.

“Why do they strip off their clothin’ and strut about afore each other?” She frowned, looking puzzled. Then her eyes lit.

“Is it to judge the size of those things?” She pointed at Connor’s groin. His mouth gaped open, and she flushed.

They took turns yelling and lecturing her until they were both hoarse. Her small chin lifted stubbornly, and she had tried hard to hide the fear in her eyes. ’Twas only their threat to tell her grandda that brought a subdued look to her face.

From the earliest days he had known her, he admired her for her total honesty, her courage. And her pride.

Meghan was everything and more a man could want in a woman.

He snuggled the covers about her back and shoulders, and she murmured and burrowed her face closer under his chin.

Nothing had ever felt so right.

He could not sleep. A ragged tear appeared in the cloak of vengeance wrapped so snug around his heart. An ache formed in his chest. What an agonizing dilemma revenge had brought him.

’Twas too late now. He squeezed his eyes tight in a grimace.

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Two vows.

One he must honor. The other he must forsake.

Meghan ran faster than any time in her life. Fear nipped at
her ankles. She did not dare spare scant seconds to look over
her shoulder. Heavy footfalls crashed closer. Her very soul
screamed for her to be wary. Of a sudden, a man’s punishing
hand caught her long braid and tossed her to the ground. She
lay sprawled on her stomach. Her legs twitched and jerked,
her fingers clutched the ground. Far away, someone called
her name.

Wrenching herself from her dream, she panted. Her heart raced as faint wisps of man and sandalwood jolted her senses.

Rolf.

Alert now, she knew she was in his bed. Naught but the scent of him accompanied her.

“Meghan?” ’Twas Ede in the doorway.

“Aye?” Meghan sat up, controlled a wince of pain, and glanced at the bed. As she thrashed about in her dream, she had tossed off the covers. She tugged the pillow over to hide the bloodstained sheet.

Ede looked toward the fireplace, embarrassed. “Rolf ordered a hot bath for you. I was not to awaken you, but I thought I heard you cry out.”

“Mayhap I sneezed.” Meghan rubbed the tip of her nose.

She felt hot shame that she had showed fright in her dream.

“Surely ’twas that I heard,” Ede agreed.

“A bath would be most welcome.” She stayed in the bed and waited until the bath arrived and the servants left.

“Would you like help?” Ede’s eyes shone with sympathy.

“Mayhap someone to talk to?”

“ ’Tis not necessary, but thank ye.” Meghan sighed with relief after the woman left the room. She looked at the bed and grimaced.

When Rolf had taken her to his bed, he had believed her

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sullied by other men. Unchaste. Even after learning his thoughts, she had responded to him like a wanton. She stepped into the hot water and scrubbed, then scrubbed again until her flesh was red. Not until the water turned cold and she began to have chill bumps did she leave the tub. But no soap could wash away that shame to her pride. Wrapped in a large drying sheet, she looked for her clothing.

Someone had entered while she slept, for last eve’s rai-ments hung on a wall peg. That horrible stand, bearing the bloodstained clothing and Connor’s armor and helmet, was gone. In its place, she spied a small trunk. Folded atop was a pale pink smock and a deep rose tunic.

She draped them over her arm and opened the lid to peer inside. All that a woman needed rested there—a wooden comb, a polished piece of metal to peer in, jars of ointments, ribbons of various colors, stockings, and other clothing. All were soft and feminine. None were in rich browns, or deep forest colors.