Risk Everything (24 page)

Chapter 18

Meghan was hard-pressed to match Rolf ’s eager strides.

His need fired her blood, though her mind told her to be wary.

Man and wife. He had said such. She would respect her vows. Her honor demanded it. Though it aggrieved her that he would guard her still. By the time they reached the bedchamber, her ardor cooled.

Breathing hard, he drew her into his arms the moment he slammed the door behind them. She twisted her head aside when he sought to kiss her, and his hot mouth brushed her chin.

“Rolf, I swore the words that I would keep myself to ye for a year and a day. I wouldna dishonor them.”

He rocked his bulging sex against her and kissed her cheek. Hungry lips and gentle teeth nibbled along her jaw and made their way back to her mouth. She sighed and avoided his hot kisses. Before he befuddled her mind with lust, she would have this out between them.

“Storm can carry me to Blackthorn and back in but a five-day span.”

He jerked his head up and stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”

“ ’Tis right my family should know I am safe.” She strained back to see his face. “I wouldna have them believe me in a dungeon. Or food for carrion.”

“They dinna.” As though that was the end of it, he clutched her tight and attacked her mouth with renewed vigor.

Ne’er had she believed a man could fire her blood with but a kiss. Nay, he didna need even a kiss. Her face close to his

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skin kindled her blood. She inhaled, slow and deep. A sigh escaped her as she opened her lips to his eager tongue.

She was no stranger to kissing. Her most ardent suitors had been clever in waylaying her, much to their later dismay. If they tried to thrust their tongue into her mouth, they found her knee in their groin. Not even her shadow remained by the time they straightened. Yet Rolf had but to dampen her sealed lips and they yielded to him.

Her eyes flew open. Had Rolf used his drugging kisses to still her arguments? She shoved his shoulders until they stood apart.

“They dinna?” Her narrowed eyes studied him. “Ye had word from them and didna tell me of it?”

“Nay. I sent Laird Damron a missive of our handfast.”

“They will not believe ye. It was not written in my own hand. Why did ye not tell me?”

“You think to question me?” He stiffened, overbearing now.

“Aye.” Hands on hips, she stared back at him.

“Learn now, Meghan, you are but a woman. You dinna question me. You dinna gainsay me.” As she took breath to form a heated reply, his finger on her lips forced them to stillness. “You will do as I say, when I say it. Do you ken?”

“Aye, I ken what ye say, but it will be a long, hot day in the dead of winter when ye think to rule me.” She huffed and headed for the door. As she lifted the latch, his hand slammed down on hers and closed it again.

“Think again, Meghan mine,” his voice purred behind her.

He grabbed her wrists in one hand and held them high above her on the door. Pressing her against the wood, he cradled his hot groin against her buttocks as he nibbled and sucked at her ear. The more she wriggled to free herself, the more she excited him.

Rolf ’s hand pressed between them to release his rampant tarse from his leggings. Knowing what he did, she heaved back attempting to turn around. His fingers snaked the hem of her clothing up above her waist.

Meghan’s sex was naked and vulnerable to him. He bent

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his knees until his hot tarse rode against the seam of her nether cheeks. He rubbed himself back and forth, then lowered still farther. A foot nudged her legs apart enough that his tarse burrowed between her thighs. The curls nestled there dampened as her body readied itself for him.

Rolf ’s big hand cupped her. “Ah, Meghan mine,” his husky voice murmured as he nipped at her shoulder. “So hot.” She shook her head, denying him.

“You would fight me still though your body craves mine?”

“Aye.” Her voice sounded strangled as she fought down the hot lust that fired her body.

“How long, Meghan? How long can you deny me?”

His fingers combed through her damp curls. Ever so slowly, one slid into her and stroked.

Her body quaked. Her muscles convulsed around him, trying to draw that lone finger deeper. She shook her head, resisting it.

“How long? Hmm?” He traced the slick opening and had to use considerable strength to keep her pinned against the door, his knees against the back of her legs.

She shuddered again, then gasped when he licked her ear and whispered into it.

“How long, Meghan mine?”

She clamped her teeth together. Fought herself, fought him.

“Now, Meghan mine. Now,” he commanded before his mouth clamped down on the side of her neck. He plunged his finger back into her and stroked the hardened nub of her sex with his thumb.

“Rolf,” she gasped. As she arched back against him, she moaned and squeezed his hand between her thighs as she climaxed.

He held her there, his hand tight against her pulsing flesh.

As the last spasms faded, he turned her and lowered her to the floor. Her eyes closed. Shamed. Her legs were like a newborn colt. She could not keep him out, had she wanted to. She did not.

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Settling himself between her thighs, he thrust into her. Her body welcomed his fullness, was eager for it.

At first, he rode her, slow and easy, seeming to savor each stroke as she rose to meet him. Her own movements soon became frantic, and he quickened his thrusts, rocking fast now and holding tight to her shoulders.

“Again, Meghan mine. Again,” his voice demanded. Of a sudden, he reached down, wet her clothing with his mouth and suckled a nipple. When it hardened, he took it between his teeth and tugged.

Her body tensed tight as a Welsh longbow. Wrapping his arms tight around her as she bucked and writhed with violent orgasms, he rode her as if he were breaking a mare to his thighs. With an outcry of pleasure, he released his iron control and his seed spurted into her.

Neither moved for long moments as they fought to regain their breath. Finally, he knelt beside her. Without speaking, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Mayhap we should have a servant lower the covers afore the sun sets.” He gave her a wry smile and stood her on her feet before he tossed the linens back. After he helped her remove her clothing, he shrugged out of his own.

“ ’Tis sorry I am I was too eager to take you to the bed.”

Rolf turned her so he could study her back. His hand floated over her skin, seeking any discoloring.

Her flesh quivered. He stroked her again. Gentling her.

Gratified, he lowered her to the bed and stretched out beside her, propped up on his elbow as he studied her.

“Why didna you wear the rose this day?” His question was slow, lazy. She would be even more lovely with such a warm color against her golden skin.

“I would choose my own clothin’.” She lifted her head and rescued the hair trapped beneath her. “Ye know I dinna like linens flapping against my legs. Why can I not wear what is comfortable to me?”

He fondled her hand and studied the scar on her finger.

“Because you have no need for them. Had you not been

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wearing them, you wouldna have caused this hurt.” He drew her finger to his lips and kissed the scar.

“ ’Twas not the clothin’ but the bauble that caused it.”

“Aye. Were you not playin’ at being a man’s equal, you wouldna have challenged the warriors at archery.”

“ ’Tis not playin’ to prove a skill. I bested all but Damron and Mereck.” She stopped and added, “Mereck is like no other with the Welsh longbow. He didna use it to outdo me.”

“What of your brother?”

“Equal.” She grinned up at him. “He, Eric MacLaren, ten other warriors, and I scored the same.”

He lifted a lock of hair, brought it to his nose, and inhaled.

“When the heather is in bloom, ’tis like you are close beside me.” He wound the curl around his finger to rub against his cheek. “At what other feats do you think to shame the men?”

“Shame?” Surprised, she stared up at him. “I dinna
shame
any man at Blackthorn. Most have had a hand in teachin’

me the skills. They boast they have taught a ‘mere’ woman such feats.”

He studied her face and nodded. “Aye. I remember well your first attempts at the knife. Did Mereck succeed in perfecting your aim?”

Meghan smiled lazily up at him. “If ye return my dirk, I will show ye how accurate my aim is.” His burst of laughter made her grin.

“Do you think me so beguiled by your beauty I would do such a brainless thing?” He moved to cover her with his hard body.

“Are ye afeard I will impale ye with my wee shaft?”

“Nay.” He shook his head and grinned. “Are ye afeared I will impale ye with mine own shaft?” he teased. His hardening manhood stirred against her thighs.

“Shaft? Nay. ’Tis much more than that.” Meghan chuckled.

“What amuses you, Meghan mine?”

“When Mereck brought Netta to Blackthorn, he had not yet bedded her. The Saxon girl knew naught of men. She

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asked one day by what name was the thing that dangles in front of a man.”

Rolf rumbled low in his throat and spread her legs with his knees.

She giggled, then went on. “I told her when it be small and pitiful like, it goes by the apt name of prick or pintle.”

“Um?” Slow and deliberate, he rubbed against her hot center as his sex swelled and lengthened. “Prick or pintle, eh?”

Meghan gasped and wriggled beneath him. Her body caught fire with each teasing movement. “If it be long, ye do like to call it a tarse, a rod, or a shaft.”

As his wet tip entered her, she lifted her hips to better seat him firmly. Her breath quickened. “When hard and strong, it became a ram, um”— she wriggled beneath him, urging him to move—“a dabbler . . . a weapon.”

“What pleasures ye now, Meghan mine?” He held still within her and watched her eyes darken with passion. “A pintle?”

“Oh, nay.”

He rotated his hips, and she gasped with surprise.

“A shaft?”

“Nay.”

He surged into her, seating himself until his hips ground against her.

“What, Meghan mine?”

She grasped his shoulders and held her breath.

“Hmm? Tell me.” He nibbled her earlobe. “What impales you now?” He pulled almost out, then thrust into her, filling her with heat and power.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting his fierce thrusts with eagerness. Her blood surged so hot she could think of naught but the building tension that filled her.

“What brings you such pleasure, Meghan? Tell me!” When she would not answer, he again went still.

Her nails dug into his flesh and she gasped. If he did not continue, her body would explode from unreleased tension.

“Rolf!” She clawed at his back. Her hips and legs tried to draw him deeper within her.

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“Tell me.”

“Weapon,” Meghan gasped. “ ’Tis a weapon ye use against me.”

Rolf clamped his lips over hers. Though the night was cool, his efforts to bring her to untold heights of rapture covered him in sweat. Never before had he craved a woman’s pleasure response.

With Ingirid, he had not unleashed his passion for she had not cared for bedsport. Was this urgent desire to couple with Meghan fueled by his need to quickly get her with child? The urge to conquer her, physically and mentally, overwhelmed him.

Once he mastered her, it would sate his passion. Not until then would she be forever his. Not until then would he be satisfied.

He gained little rest that night. Each time he woke, his shaft was hard and throbbing, his sac full and urgent. Even after he filled her with his seed, he did not want to leave her.

’Twas well past nightfall at Blackthorn. Damron, along with Connor, had waited in the solar since dusk, for they expected Mereck to return afore the midnight bells of vigils. As warriors clamored over the drawbridge, Brianna and Netta barged into the room, their babes held at their shoulders.

“Is Meghan with him?” Brianna asked, breathless.

She hurried to the window opening to peer out. Her delicate, small body belied the strong will housed in it. Whenever Damron stood his massive body toe-to-toe with his wee wife and glared green daggers at her in an attempt to intimidate her into obedience, he fought a losing battle.

“Nay, wife. Mereck carries somethin’ under his arm. Here, give me wee Douglas afore ye upset the lad with yer frettin’.”

“Fretting? Ha. It’s Connor who has his bowels in an uproar,” Brianna huffed as she handed the babe to his father.

“Not any old man will do for her.” Connor ignored her odd teasing and nodded his head as he raked his fingers through dark brown hair so much like Meghan’s. His mouth, which

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was forever lifted at the corners in a smile, now turned down with worry.

“Eric MacLaren’s uncle Angus has need of a wife. As big as a bull and twice as mean. Meghan wouldna dare thwart his orders.”

“ ’Tis too late now for finding the lass a man to husband her,”

Mereck said as he strode into the room. The air crackled with his energy. The wolf, Guardian, followed close at his heels.

Mereck was a giant of a man and would appear Damron’s twin except for the laird’s dark hair. Mereck’s long and wavy hair, neither brown nor golden, flowed wildly about a face painted blue on one side. A hide tunic covered his sculpted torso to just above the knees, while wolf skins framed his massive shoulders. Pewter armbands circled muscular arms.

His attire brought out the wild Welsh side of his heritage.

The first time his Netta had seen him thus, she was so frightened of the wild savage called Baresark that she had run away to hide at her friend’s castle.

“Did Guardian lead ye to her scent, brother?” Damron asked.

Netta near threw herself at Mereck, so relieved was she that he was home again. He put an arm around her and kissed her with enthusiasm before he nuzzled his son Donald’s head.