RulingPassion (3 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what? That you punished me? Why be sorry when you
and I both know it was right and due?”

“Sorry you had to suffer so. Sorry mine was the hand that
made you scream.”

“I’m not,” she said.

Astonishment spread over the face he lifted so that he could
meet her eyes.

“I’m pleased you have such a strong sense of honor you
wouldn’t let me get away with lying to you,” she said. “I rejoice that if I had
to be punished for it, the hand doing it was yours.”

“You wanted to be punished?” he asked.

“Nay, my lord. And most certainly I didn’t enjoy it. But it
was right and I needed it.”

His face plunged toward her again and his lips clamped on
her mouth. She opened to him and his tongue roved the insides of her cheeks and
gums. No longer constrained, she wrapped her arms around his chest and pressed
closer to him. The feel of his solid muscle and the manly scent of his skin
made her nearly dizzy. The kiss went on and on until her loins and her bottom
both throbbed in unison with her pounding pulse. Something hard and probing
poked at her hip and she moved against it.

Pleasure surged through her when he groaned and rubbed a big
hand up and down her back. Tearing his mouth from hers, he kissed his way to
her ear and then down along the side of her neck, sucking and nipping at the
tender flesh as he went. She moaned in turn. One of his arms still circled her
back and supported her. The other hand moved around to the front of her shift
and found the neat handful of a breast. He cupped it in his palm while his
fingers sought the tip. The soft flesh hardened in welcome of the touch.

Her head fell back a little when new waves of pleasure radiated
from her nipple as he caressed it and pinched it lightly. He moved to the other
breast and played with it, too. She squealed in surprise and delight when his
lips replaced his fingers on her nipple and he tongued it through the cloth of
her shift, sucking and nipping lightly.

“Oh, my lord, my lord,” she moaned as a pleasure just as
intense as the pain she’d suffered only minutes before flooded her being to the
point where she doubted her body could contain it.

With his mouth still clinging to her breast, he reached down
and grabbed the bottom edge of the shift. He released her nipple long enough to
tug the garment up and over her head, leaving her completely naked to his gaze.
It should have embarrassed her, but instead she just felt a warm excitement about
it.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as his gaze roved over her revealed
charms. “You’re so beautiful.”

He dipped his head to take another mouthful of breast and
taste the naked bud. The shards of pleasure that exploded from it ripped
through her gut and her loins, making her moan loudly again. She’d never felt
anything so exciting and rapturous in her life. She’d never dreamed such
pleasure could exist.

His free hand began an exploration of the rest of her body,
traveling down her side, stroking her belly, moving lower, then bypassing the
triangle below to brush her hip and thigh. Warm, exciting tingles followed upon
his touch. When his fingers moved toward the flesh of her inner thigh, the
pleasure grew into a demanding tension. She needed, wanted something without
knowing exactly what it was.

One thing she did know she wanted: the feel of his skin. She
had to work her hands down and under the shirt he wore, then let them travel
upwards to revel in the feel of his hair-roughened chest. Solid muscles
responded with gentle quivers to her exploration. He jumped and exclaimed when
her fingers brushed over one of his nipples.

He stood up abruptly, turned, and lowered her gently to the
bed, setting her on her side. Before he lay down next to her, he pulled tunic
and shirt over his head. She sucked in a hard breath at the sight of his fine,
broad shoulders and the strong, elegant muscles of his chest.

“Roll over on your stomach,” he said.

She hesitated for a second, then did as he asked. His hands
were gentle on her back, rubbing just hard enough to relax her, kneading the
skin. When they moved down over her sore, welted buttocks, his fingers gentled
more and caressed just enough to relieve some of the remaining ache.

“Am I bleeding?” she asked.

“Nay, lady,” he said, “Though you’ll have some mild
bruises.”

“I’m amazed. It felt as though the rod cut me to ribbons.”

“It feels that way,” he agreed. “But it’s not the case.”

His hands slid lower, brushing down along the backs of her
thighs and coming up inside them. She gasped and tensed as his fingers left
trails of fire along the super-sensitive skin. When they approached the apex of
the triangle, they stilled for a moment, then one finger hesitantly brushed her
mound.

She squealed as the touch went through her like a charge of
energy, leaving her jerking and quivering. He continued stroking the insides of
her thighs, his fingers occasionally straying to the magic area where each
contact was a revelation of new pleasure. A tension of need and wanting was
building within her.

Something cool and a little damp touched her derriere at one
of the sore spots. His lips stroked over the welt and then his tongue ran along
it. The touch rasped, but the icy burn of it made her suck in air so hard she
could only breathe in sharp pants.

“My lord!” she gasped, a little shocked, entirely grateful.

He licked along each line of fire the birch had raised,
soothing the pain, building her need and yearning until she was sure she
couldn’t contain it much longer.

“Can you roll over?” he asked.

She nodded. Her sore bottom protested the contact with the
bed linen for a moment then subsided. Oddly, the remaining sting actually fed
the yearning tension and seemed to magnify the pleasure of each touch of his
hand on her skin.

Lying on her back had the added benefit of letting her see
him as he paid homage to her body. Watching the pleasure light his face, it
suddenly struck her what an enormous change had happened in her life in the
space of twenty-four hours. At the same time the previous day she’d been languishing
in Sir William’s dungeon, wondering if she would eventually accede to his
demand. Now here she was, freely offering her body to a man she’d barely known
existed before he took her out of the cell.

Though she did so in payment of her debt to him, she
nonetheless found it hard to resist the appeal of him. The attractive exterior
drew her, but she admired also his honor, kindness, fairness, and sense of
humor. This might be the most right and possibly the most perfect thing she’d
ever experienced.

Tomorrow she’d have to consider her future, and without
question this night would have a huge influence on it, probably in a negative
way. She’d be a used woman, ruined in the eyes of many. But she’d also have
known a pleasure she’d never guessed could exist, at the hands of a man unlike
any she’d ever known. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t regret this night’s work,
couldn’t regret what she’d learned.

He stood upright by the side of the bed, and she ran her
eyes up and down his body while he studied hers. Below his beautiful, muscular
chest with its flat, brown nipples, the little dip of his belly button drew her
eyes further down to the bulge straining his breeches to the limits of the
fabric. Possessed suddenly of a wild curiosity, she grabbed and tugged the
laces until the bow pulled open and the loosened garment slid down his lean
hips.

His cock looked enormous to her. Freed from confinement, it
jutted proudly from his body, as long as her hand, as thick as her wrist.
Watching his face to be sure she didn’t offend him, she reached tentatively to
touch it. He sucked in a sharp breath and his face screwed up in a wince of
pleasure when she ran the tip of her finger across the bulbous end. She was
shocked by how soft and silky the skin felt.

He tolerated her fascinated exploration for another minute
or two, then moved until she had to drop her hand. He knelt on the bed at her
side and dipped his head to her breasts again. She jerked in stunned delight as
he leaned over to run a rasping tongue around her hardened nipple.

Switching from one to the other, he sucked, nipped, swiped
the tip with his tongue and rolled it gently between his teeth. His hand ran
down her belly to find the hollow between her legs. He parted her outer folds
to find the most sensitive places within. The two-pronged assault on her body
sent waves of excitement through her and wound her tighter and tighter, like a
metal coil pressed down.

His caresses grew faster and harder until she felt the world
drop away. Then suddenly the pleasure rose to even greater heights and her body
arched in sudden, rapturous release of the tension. Wave on wave of ecstasy
coursed through her as she bucked and bounced with breath-stealing pleasure.
For a moment out of time she drifted on waves of joy that gradually subsided,
leaving her floating comfortably in a place of wondrous peace.

She looked up at him, watching the way his gray eyes glowed
with pleasure and pride. She reached up to touch his strong jaw and run her
fingers through the loosened blond hair that hung around his shoulders. He
leaned forward and kissed her again. Her heart melted in his embrace and a new
and different need roused. She wanted more from him. Wanted more for him.
Wanted more of him.

He moved to position himself between her legs, weight balanced
on his hands as stretched himself out over her. There he hesitated.

“It may be difficult for you,” he warned. “It being your
first time.”

“It’s fine, my lord,” she said, wrapping her arms around his
neck to pull him closer.

He nodded, positioned himself carefully, and then thrust
forward and into her. When he met the barrier of her maidenhead, he pushed
forcefully through it.

Rosalind gasped at the pain and tensed her body. Lord
Jeoffrey stopped and held himself still, giving her time to adjust to his
invasion. When the burn subsided a bit, she nodded for him to continue. Still
he moved cautiously, retreating, pushing forward, waiting for her to
accommodate him, all the time watching her face for any sign it was too much.
Finally she began to relax, though it still burned. Even with that discomfort,
the briefly appeased hunger began to rouse again and she welcomed the movement
of him within her. He plunged up and down.

“You’re so hot, so tight!” He sounded amazed and delighted,
strained and awed. “So beautiful.” He lowered his face to hers and kissed her
while pumping into her.

She began moving with him, against him and then away, in
rhythm with his rocking. His hard body grew even more tense. The motion
increased to a nearly frantic pace, but she felt the heat and the need growing
again, building, tautening, until she couldn’t hold it anymore and she cried
out as the shocking spasms rolled through and over her again.

At nearly the same time, he too emitted a sound like a roar,
and his face screwed into a mask of agonized pleasure. His hard, gasping
breaths testified to the extent of his effort and the pleasure of the reward as
he held himself buried deep within her. Moments later, he carefully let himself
down until he stretched out on top of her, still maintaining most of his weight
on his elbows, but with their bodies touching from chin to knees.

He sighed long and deep as he rested against her. They lay
that way, too limp to move, for some time. For Rosalind, peace and contentment
saturated her being as she held onto the man. To be so close to another person,
to experience so much pleasure and take almost as much joy in giving the
equivalent, was a wonder to savor.

Eventually, he rolled off but settled at her side, pulling
her against him. She rested her head on his shoulder. They lay quietly together
for a while. He sighed and wrapped his arms even tighter around her. One hand
crept to her breast and stroked it lightly. His touch was more soothing and
comforting than arousing.

“Lady Rosalind,” he said. “You are an amazing lady. You
could make me begin to wish for what might never be.” The words rumbled in his
chest.

“What might that be, Lord Jeoffrey?” she asked.

He drew a long breath before he answered. “You make a man
feel as though he owns the world and holds it in his hands. Some man will be
exceedingly fortunate to have your company lifelong. It cannot be me, however.”

“Because I have no lands or dowry?”

“It is not just as I would will,” he said. “But what my
obligations to my people demand. I do not have lands enough to support my
people. I do other work when I can, but it is not dependable enough. I would
secure the survival of all my people through a mating of lands or fortunes.”

“Always there are obligations to others. Have we no
obligations to ourselves?”

“Not for our own happiness,” he answered. “Not when others
rely on us for all their safety and well-being.”

She had no answer for that. While she considered his words,
she felt his breath soften as he dozed off. She followed him shortly.

Chapter Five

A tap at the door woke them. The darkness beyond the window
showed night had fallen. They’d only slept for a short time. Jeoffrey reached
up and pulled the bed curtains closed around them, then called, “Come.”

Still in a pleasant haze of sleep and satiation, Rosalind
didn’t hear much of the conversation that ensued as he poked his head outside
the bed curtains to speak with the newcomers. Moments later she heard servants
coming and going, pots clattering, pans banging, and the splashing of water being
poured from one container to another. It went on for quite a long time. After a
while, silence reigned.

Lord Jeoffrey climbed out of the bed, turned back, slid his
arms under her and carried her across the room.

“A bath will help soothe your aches,” he said, setting her
down beside the most enormous hip bath she’d ever seen. Since she had no
clothes to shed, he immediately helped her in. The water was hot and cradled
her in its steaming glory. She understood the size of the tub when Jeoffrey
stepped into it with her and settled himself facing her.

“My second bath in as many days,” she said, resting her head
against the edge of the tub while the heat penetrated her skin and relaxed her
sinews.

“It’s a pleasant habit.” He reached over the side of the tub
to a small table where a flagon of wine stood beside two cups. His legs touched
alongside hers as he moved and poured a measure of liquid into each cup.
Rosalind admired the play of strong muscles in his shoulders as he leaned away
from her. He turned and handed one of the cups to her, then held his own up,
extended toward her. “What shall we drink to?”

Rosalind remembered happier days when her father had made
such toasts before the start of a feast. “The usual are things like long life,
health, happiness, success.”

He cocked his head, waiting for her to continue.

She thought about her childhood and where she was now. Just
a few years ago she had felt so safe, so secure in her future. Never would she
have anticipated what life would bring her to. She sighed and leaned back
against the side of the tub. “I cannot think of anything worth toasting.”

“You’re alive and no longer in a dungeon,” he suggested
gently.

“But with an uncertain future.”

“Certainty is given to none of us,” he said. “We take what
we are given and do what can be done with it.”

“Then shall we drink to that?” she asked. “To an uncertain
future and whatever opportunities it may offer.”

A smile spread across his face, lighting the stern features
with an unexpected joy. “To opportunities,” he agreed and took a long swallow
of the wine.

Rosalind straightened up and tried to copy his action, but
was surprised by the unexpected burn of it going down and nearly choked.

“Take care,” he warned, a trifle late. “Bedwell’s brew is
more potent than most people expect.”

“That it is,” she said, staring into the cup, though nothing
about the red liquid could serve warning as to how it would burn in the mouth.
“But it feels warm all the way down.”

She looked up and surprised him staring very hard at her.
She watched the intent way his eyes studied her, then let her gaze slip down
along his straight nose, the mouth set in uncompromising lines, the firm chin,
to the broad, solidly muscled shoulders. The strength and power in the man made
her feel small, helpless, frightened.

“Your eyes appear to change color,” he said. “Earlier I
would have sworn they were brown, but now they look more greenish.”

“It has been remarked on before.”

He raised the cup and extended it. “I’ll drink to your
changeable eyes.” He took a long sip from the cup.

Hesitantly she held out her cup in turn. “And I’ll drink to
your eyes—the color of the clouds that precede snow on a winter day.” She
sipped her wine and waited to see how he would react.

His expression lightened and brightened at her response.
“And I’ll drink to your hair, neither red nor brown, exactly; the color of some
leaves in October,” he added, suiting action to his words as he finished.

“And I’ll drink to your hair, the yellow of the buttercups
in the field.”

He frowned wryly. “I know not that I like being compared to
a flower.”

“‘Tis the only thing about you I would compare to so meek
and mild a thing.”

“Then perhaps I’ll allow it,” he said. “To your nose, as
delicate and graceful as the cup of a daffodil and to the freckles across it
and your cheeks like the speckling of dew on the grass.”

“Those freckles were my mother’s despair.” For a moment the
memory brought sadness, but he splashed a bit of water in her direction and she
let it go. “Your nose, my lord, is anything but delicate, but I drink to the
strength and length of it, which reminds me of a guard tower on a castle wall.”

He smiled at that and tipped his cup again. “Your lips, my
lady, are the soft pink of the earliest spring rosebuds.”

She sipped from her own cup and then responded in kind. “To
your chin, my lord, which is like the jutting prow of a ship set to sail.”

“Have you seen such a ship, my lady?”

“Once. I accompanied my family to France when I was small.
The ship made a great impression on me. I should like to set sail on one again
sometime.”

“Perhaps it will be so for you.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed.

“In the meantime, I drink to your white shoulders like
shapely cliffs and your breasts…to what shall I compare your breasts? Such
perfection of form and feel and taste? Perhaps like cook’s egg pudding when it
comes forth perfect from the mold.”

The wine and the heat and the man combined to make her head
swim in a pleasantly relaxed way. She let her gaze skim down his form. “And I,
my lord, drink to your shoulders, strong as cliffs overlooking the sea; and to
your cock, strong, jutting lance that it is, set to penetrate, to bring both
pain and ecstasy.”

When his arms wrapped around her and his lips locked against
hers, the pleasure spurted through her in joyous waves.

After a while, he shifted them both so that he ended up with
his legs stretched out as far as they would go in the confines of the tub, his
knees bent a bit, and Rosalind straddling his hips. She lowered herself
carefully onto his jutting lance and impaled herself upon it. She let herself
down gradually, burying him deep inside herself. But taking it slowly to
accommodate herself to the size of him and careful of the soreness remaining
from the previous effort. But once he was in all the way, she found it less
uncomfortable. When she rocked, the water sloshed around them. Lord Jeoffrey
sucked in a deep breath and his face tightened with the pleasure of it. She
found she loved watching his reaction and cautiously began to move up and down
over him. She studied his face, trying to ascertain what seemed to please him
the most.

He lifted her just enough to let him slip two fingers
between them, into her slit, just above where his cock bridged their bodies.
She moaned when they caressed her most sensitive place and made her tension
build with his.

They rocked together. She tried to match her movements to
the rhythm of his body’s reaction until they bounced so hard the water slopped
over the sides onto the floor. The coiled need within her built as their speed
increased until she felt it break open. She clutched at him, gasping as the
waves of climax rolled through her. A moment later, he loosed a roar of
satisfaction as he rammed his seed home in her.

Then he collapsed back against the side of the tub and
pulled her down and forward until her head rested against his shoulder, her
face turned toward him so her lips nuzzled against his neck.

“My lord,” she sighed. “You are a very potent man.”

She felt the rumble in his chest as he laughed gently.
“Thank you for that, lady, but slight not your own efforts in rousing me to
such display.”

“It took little enough.”

“But only because your talent for it is so great.”

“Is it, in truth, my lord? I have no practice with such
things.”

“Then I shiver to think what you shall accomplish when you
have had time to work your talent.”

He fell silent suddenly and his arms tightened around her.
Rosalind wondered if his own words had reminded him, as they’d done for her, of
the reality that he wouldn’t be the man to benefit from it.

After a few minutes he roused himself and pushed her gently
back. “The water is cooling, and my stomach demands nourishment. Are you not
hungry, my lady?”

She stared at him a moment and shivered gently. “Aye, my
lord,” she said softly, feeling sudden regret for something she didn’t
understand, possibilities sensed that could never come to being.

He didn’t recognize or chose not to hear her sadness. He
wrapped a cloth around his middle, helped her from the tub and swaddled her in
the robe she’d worn to come to him. Then he pulled a cord to summon a servant.
When the man knocked at the door, Lord Jeoffrey consulted him for a few
minutes.

When the servant had departed, he handed her another cloth
for her hair. He took a comb and began to run it through his wet hair. Rosalind
went to him and surprised him by removing the comb from his hand. She sat
herself in the one comfortable chair at the side of the room and said, “Bring
the stool over here and sit, my lord.”

He raised his eyebrows but did as she directed.

“No, facing away from me,” she said.

When he was seated, she began to comb out his hair,
alternating short strokes that ordered the wild strands and separated out
tangles, with longer, more sensuous passes performed purely for the pleasure of
it. The soft strands felt like silk in her hands as she sorted and smoothed it.
While she did so, he leaned back, resting his upper arms on her thighs. She
fought the urge to kiss his hair and brush it across her face while she worked
on it. When finally it was all in order, he stood and took the comb from her.

“Your turn, now, my lady,” he said, nodding for her to take
his place on the stool. She did so. Her near-waist-length hair was slightly
curly and turned into a mass of tangles after being washed. He was surprisingly
gentle in pulling out the knots and seemed to take as much pleasure in the
process as she’d done in caring for his. He was nearly done when another knock
sounded at the door.

When he called, “Enter,” two men and a woman came in,
bearing platters of food and pitchers. They set it all out on the table at the
side of the room, moved two chairs close to it on either side, and then
departed after ascertaining nothing else was needed.

Lord Jeoffrey served her slices of several sorts of meats, a
selection of vegetables, and a chunk of fresh, white bread before heaping his
own trencher high.

While they ate, Jeoffrey regaled her with stories of his
childhood and adventures as a young man in the king’s service. She returned a
few vignettes from her own childhood, the things she could remember now without
breaking down as she had so often in the terrible time after the slaughter of
her family.

The food was the best she’d had in quite some time and
Rosalind ate her fill.

There was more wine, too, and her head grew fuzzy as she
consumed it. Unaccustomed as she was to taking so much strong drink, it had a
potent effect on her. The candlelight sometimes grew brighter in her eyes and
sometimes the room seemed to dance around her. She stared at the man seated
across from her and admitted to herself he was by far the most attractive one
she’d ever laid eyes on. She wanted him. And not just for now. Though she’d
known him only a day, she suspected she’d be a long time forgetting him. Nay,
not so. She’d never forget him. For as long as she lived, if this was all she
ever had of him, she wouldn’t forget it.

“You have an expressive face, my lady,” Jeoffrey said,
wiping his mouth and hands on a cloth and then dropping it to the table, “and I
see sadness creeping in there. It will not do. Whatever tomorrow may bring
tonight is not about sadness. It’s for us to enjoy.”

He reached across the table and tipped her face toward him.
“We’ve yet to eat the bread pudding.” He stuck a finger into the small bowl and
scooped up a tiny bit, then brought it to her mouth. She opened for him and
sucked the sweet off his finger. If anything had ever pleased her senses so
much, she couldn’t remember it. When he offered a second bit, she took it
eagerly, sucking so hard on his finger, it made a small pop when it withdrew from
her mouth.

Before he could get another fingerful, she said, “Wait. It’s
my turn, my lord.” She mimicked his action, plunging her index finger into the
bowl of pudding to scoop a few drops of it and bringing it to his mouth. The
smile that spread across his face as she offered it to him was even sweeter
than the pudding. It struck straight into her heart, setting off a little quiet
laughter from pure joy.

He opened his mouth and she put her finger into it. His lips
closed slowly, caressingly over the tip. The touch sent strange waves of
tingling heat all through her skin. His tongue move across her finger, licking
off the pudding, scraping delightful quivers on her flesh.

They took turns feeding the pudding to each other until most
of it had disappeared, although some slopped onto the table or their robes.
Jeoffrey spotted a small drip that had fallen on her skin, sliding down between
her breasts. He stood up and came around the table, then knelt beside her and
leaned forward until his tongue reached the spot.

Shivers exploded up and down her spine at the touch. The
hunger for him rose again, and she buried her fingers in his hair—soft and
silky now that it had dried—forcing his face against her. His tongue moved
against her, seeking out the soft curve of breast and feasting on each inch it
found.