Sword for His Lady (19 page)

She rubbed against him, moving her hips in a motion that felt perfect.

But not perfect just yet.

She reached for his tunic, trying to tug it up. He pulled away from her, breaking the kiss, and glanced at her, his need turning his expression wild. For a moment, she stared, feeling pride rise inside her. Aye, she was glad she had driven him to the same desire. Be it sin or not, they would burn together.

“Forgive me, Isabel, for I cannot wait.”

“I share the same failing,” she confessed as she tugged on the fabric of his tunic again. It was stuck between them, and she felt desperate to have his skin pressed against hers.

“Tonight…I will prove my worth to you. But now, I must have you.”

He pulled away from her, just a single inch, but it was enough for her to pull his tunic up. The evening air brushed against her thighs as he pulled her under robe all the way up to her waist. She sighed but gasped when he boldly pressed his knee between her thighs.

He froze, stroking her jaw and raising her face to meet his. A question flickered in his eyes, concern that disrupted the pleasure flowing through her.

She lifted her knee and locked her leg around his hips as she had spied a maid or two doing in the passageways when they thought no one was about. His member slipped between her thighs, stroking across the folds of her sex and sending a bolt of sensation through her.

“Sweet mercy,” she gasped, on the edge of ecstasy.

“Aye, sweet indeed.”

He reached between them and stroked her folds. She shuddered, leaning back against his arm, unable to stop straining toward him. Sweat was beading on her forehead, her breath coming in tiny pants as she thrust toward him, the motion as necessary as drawing breath.

She was wet, her body flowing with enough fluid to coat his fingers. He slipped the wet digit into her, parting her folds with delicate motions.

“Claim me,” she begged, certain that madness was going to claim her if she didn't find release.

“You'll be too tight.” He drew his fingers up her slit to the point that was throbbing. “Take your ease.”

He rubbed the little button at the top of her sex and leaned against her, keeping her thighs raised as he rubbed harder. She wanted to resist, wanted more, wanted to be filled, but there was no way to control herself. She thrust toward him, riding his hand as ecstasy burst and shot up into her womb. It was blinding and overwhelming, spinning her around and around and around until it flung her away into a churning whirlwind of pleasure.

Ramon held her, his body her source of strength and solace. She'd never felt something so intimate with another soul and she clung to him.

Yet it was not enough. Her appetite was not sated, only ebbed. She lifted her head from where it had slumped onto his shoulder, seeking his dark gaze.

“I would be your wife.” All lack of certainty was gone, leaving only firm determination. She lifted her leg higher, locking it around his hip as she clasped him around his hard shoulders.

“Aye,” he growled. It was more of a sound than a word and fit the moment perfectly. Just as his body felt perfect against her own. She'd never realized how compatible men and women were, or at least never guessed that it could be so blissful.

He shifted, withdrawing his fingers and guiding his member into her. It was hard but covered in soft skin that slipped easily into her wet folds. He nudged against her opening, reaching around to cup her bottom and lift her.

Her body accepted but strained as it was stretched. He hesitated when he felt the resistance.

“Thrust true,” she demanded. “And be done quickly.”

He shook his head, withdrawing from her. “It can be done with patience, Isabel.”

Surprise flashed through her but she had no time to linger on it. He moved toward her again, pressing more of his length into her. She stiffened, her passage taking him as it stretched.

“I would not pain you,” he whispered against her ear.

“Tight is not pain.”

But it was discomfort. He withdrew, granting her a moment of reprieve that turned out to be more of a torment because she hungered for him so much. When he thrust forward again, she lifted her hips and pressed toward him.

“Be still,” he bit out, strain tightening his tone.

“I did not promise to be that sort of wife.” She smiled. “And you promised me a passionate marriage bed.” She locked eyes with him. “I am hungry for it.”

“Then you shall be satisfied,” he vowed.

His powerful body moved with far more purpose. He withdrew and thrust into her, filling her completely. She gasped, a moment of discomfort drifting through her but he didn't allow her to linger in it. He was moving, thrusting with a steady rhythm that sent her back into the blaze of hunger and need that had burst into such a storm of ecstasy. It was deep this time, the pleasure more intense. Every motion of his hips pressed the breath from her, but she met him, desperate for another stroke. His hardness satisfied her in a way she didn't understand and didn't want to think about.

All she wanted was to keep moving, keep lifting for his thrusts, keep straining toward him until she shattered. She clawed at him as the pleasure twisted through her, wringing her until every last bit of breath was gone from her body. She didn't care. Couldn't care because her mind was numb as her flesh reigned supreme.

“Aye…as I promised, vixen,” he growled next to her ear. “You will forget your last husband, for he was not truly a husband to you.”

His hands cupped her bottom, tightening on it as he rode her with hard thrusts. His chest labored to draw in enough breath to feed his heart as it hammered against her breasts. She felt his member growing stiffer, swelling inside her before it burst. Ramon snarled, his body drawing tight as he pumped his seed into her, holding himself as deep inside her as he could while the hot spurts hit the mouth of her womb.

He relaxed, but kept her clasped against him as they both struggled to catch their breaths. She didn't want to start thinking again, would have preferred to simply fall asleep against his shoulder with the scent of his skin filling her senses.

She had never enjoyed a man's scent before.

“We both need another bath, now that I have acted impulsively and lost the battle to wait until tonight.”

“I will not chastise you, Husband.” She let her legs lower but her knees still felt wobbly.

He cupped her chin and raised her face. His expression had lost all of its guardedness. For the first time, she saw the man beneath the baron, the one who doubted and sought approval. She stroked his neck, feeling shy but excited at the same time.

“You may yet change your mind, for I plan to be a very, very demanding husband.”

There was a playful gleam in his eyes that delighted her. A soft giggle escaped her lips, horrifying her because she thought she was far past the age of giggling. One dark eyebrow rose and then he tickled her. She gasped, squealing as she tried to escape from his fingers.

“Fiend!” she accused as she bent over to duck beneath his arm.

Ramon scooped her up with an ease that left her breathless. He turned around, carried her to the tub, and deposited her in it.

“My under robe,” she protested as the fabric instantly soaked up the water and lay against her skin, displaying her every curve.

“Mildred can fetch you another, since she is hovering outside the door.”

There was a
hmph
before they heard Mildred's steps.

“She was…right.” Isabel's cheeks burned scarlet.

Ramon laughed softly at her mortification. He reached into the tub, grasped her wet under robe, and pulled it from her. It came free with a wet slosh and he tossed it over the edge of the open window that they had just been pressed against.

Her cheeks burned brighter, but she smiled too, realizing that the sun had set. Leaving her nothing but the night to enjoy.

Demanding? Her husband might discover that she intended to be his match.

* * *

His master would want to know.

But Donald hesitated.

Thistle Hill was a fine place to live and they welcomed him. It was true he had to sleep in the stable, for he was not trusted yet with a place on the floor of the great hall. Yet in time there might be much more for him.

But not if they discovered he had served Jacques Raeburn.

He swallowed his distaste and slipped away into the forest again. That was the difficulty with life—there were pitiful few opportunities for someone like himself. His mother had sent him to work when he was six. Some might say she had hoped for a better life for him with Raeburn, but he often doubted if the real reason was that his mother wanted to be rid of him and didn't have it in her to drown him. He'd often wondered if maybe she'd actually felt some emotion for him.

He'd never know, because she'd dropped a kiss on his brow and told him to work hard for his new lord. He didn't really even remember her name now, only that she'd had a wicked temper in the mornings and he'd learned not to wake her.

He hadn't chosen Jacques Raeburn but God had set the man above him, so he made his way through the forest to the edge of his camp. The moment the inhabitants of Thistle Hill learned he had been a squire to Raeburn, they'd remove his head.

There was no way to be certain the information wouldn't come to light, so he had no choice but to make his way to his master's tent and wait. The master's cries came through the canvas walls, indicating to the boy that Jacques was enjoying his woman.

The flap didn't move until the moon was overhead in the sky. The boy rubbed his arms to warm them and lifted his feet in a march to keep the chill of the night away. His leggings were thin and worn and he worried that he'd have to suffer through the winter with nothing better.

“The master will see you, Donald.”

The boy lowered his eyes as he walked past the master's woman. She smelled good. He couldn't help but notice that. He didn't dare look at her—the master was a jealous man.

“What have you to report?”

Donald raised his head and looked at his master. Jacques was wrapped in a fur-lined dressing robe. Donald stared longingly at the thick fur as he fought to keep his teeth from chattering.

“They've consummated their union.”

Jacques's forehead furrowed. “Just now? Why the delay?”

“The lady's nurse, she insisted that they wait. Wait until the lady bled, so no one would say the babe was yours.”

“You fool!” Jacques roared. “You should have returned to tell me so!”

Donald fought to stay in place as his master surged out of his chair and struck him across the mouth. Donald fell in a heap but got back up and faced his master.

Jacques cursed and sat back down. “This is what I get when I trust a whore's son like you to know what is important and what is not.”

He took a sip from his drinking bowl and leveled a hard look at Donald. “Return.”

“My lord?” Donald hadn't meant to question, but it slipped out.

“I said, return to Thistle Keep. I will await instruction from my father.”

“Of course.” Donald lowered himself and backed out of the tent. It made sense now. Even a man such as Raeburn took orders from a more important man than himself. No one but the king was without a master.

No one.

The new keep was rising rapidly.

Ramon's men had built cranes: two men walked inside huge wheels to lift the weight of the stones. Father Gabriel was often watching the stones rise into the air to be set into the walls of the keep. Although he was a man of God, Isabel could see the desire flicking in his eyes for those cranes to be used to raise a new church.

In
time.

The summer brought flowers to the marshes; Isabel was eager to enjoy them and felt as though her feet were so light, she might skip. The grass grew high, roads marked only by their worn dirt tracks. The geese would have their hatchlings now. The little chicks grew so rapidly. The marshes would be full of mothers mentoring their young on how to find food while the ganders returned to keeping company with their own gender.

She hummed a merry tune as she went into the mews. But her elation died when she discovered Griffin missing from the mews. She emerged to discover one of Ramon's men leaving with the merlin perched on his arm.

She found Ramon working on the tower and went to him. His men tried to stop her, making slashing motions as she entered the work area.

“Hold.” Ramon lifted his arm into the air with his fist closed tight. The work came to a halt as every man looked to see what would cause such a disturbance.

“My lady, return to the keep.”

The man who had tickled her was hidden behind the one who had ridden up to her keep and informed her they were to wed. There was no hint of weakness or even kindness, just purpose. He was in command of everything she considered hers.

“Why did your man take Griffin?” she asked.

“Because the hawk needs to hunt and you will not place yourself at risk by taking him to the marshes.”

Ramon cupped her elbow and turned her around easily, driving home how much stronger he was. But she shook off his hold, stumbling at her effort.

“Are you to tell me my place now, sir?” She stood up straight when he reached out to steady her. “Is that to be the tone of this union?”

He made another motion with his hand toward the workmen and the work resumed. The wheels groaned as the men inside them strained to start them and the rope took up the weight of more stone. A steady scraping filled the air as masons spread mortar and hammered blocks into place.

“When it comes to your well-being, Isabel, you shall listen to me,” he said.

“I have run Thistle Keep for many seasons.”

Ramon planted himself between her and the work being done. “Yet together, we shall make it stronger.”

“Only if I bend completely to your will, it seems.” Her temper flared but she couldn't control it.

“You will not go to the marshes. On that matter, you shall bend.”

“You promised me…”

“I have kept my word to you.” His eyes flashed with his rising temper. “In the matter of moving you to ecstasy and ensuring our bed is not cold. My men bled to protect your land.” He drew in a deep breath to soften his tone. “I never promised you the freedom to be foolish.”

“Yet you claimed you understood my feeling on becoming chattel.”

His expression softened, but only for a moment. “I treat you like a wife I value. Were I to allow you to roam the marshes, where Jacques's men might come upon you again, I would be a husband that wed you only for the gain of your holdings. That is true caring.” There was truth in his words but she didn't want to hear it. Ramon's expression tightened. “I protect you, even if it must be from your own whims. Call me harsh if you like, but in truth, I prove my caring for you.”

He left her standing in the yard. She wanted to run up to him and argue but turned around and fled back to the keep. Until she realized she was making herself a prisoner. She turned and looked out over the fields. They were rippling with crops that would soon start to turn golden brown as harvest time approached. The new keep was three stories high now, the stones she had paid to have cut for the last three years put to good use. Anyone looking at her land would say it was bursting with good fortune.

All she saw was the freedom she would be denied.

“Come inside and stop your fussing,” Mildred said. Of course she was there.

Isabel turned and gave her a hard look. “Do not lecture me.”

Mildred propped her hands on her hips. “You can be sure I will. At least until the sun sets and your husband can deal with you. But you like the way he takes you to task, sure enough.”

She
did.

A ripple of sensation went through her, stroking the hunger hidden in her flesh. She'd never guessed she had such a carnal nature. But she wanted to be more. More than just the vessel for her husband's seed.

She stomped back into the keep, cradling her injured pride.

She would be more.

Somehow.

* * *

“I do not find it amusing, Ambrose,” Ramon said.

Ambrose choked on his laughter. He leaned back against the stone wall of the passageway and said, “It is very amusing, my friend. Very, very much so!”

Ramon resisted the urge to pound on the barred door of Isabel's bedchamber again. His man stood outside the door at his post, staring down the stairwell instead of looking at Ramon as he tried to get his wife to lift the bar.

But the man's lips were white from being pressed so tightly together. Ramon felt his temper straining. Ambrose wiped his eyes as he chuckled softly.

Ramon turned on him. “I wonder how long you will be amused, as I share your bed once more.”

Ambrose frowned, straightening and looking at the closed door.

Ramon chuckled at the rising terror on his friend's face before he walked across the hallway and settled on his back in bed. Ambrose joined him and stared at the ceiling.

“Do I want to know if you are planning on taking your wife in hand?” Ambrose asked.

Ramon chuckled softly, menacingly. “Be very sure that I have no plans to accept defeat.”

None
whatsoever.

* * *

She was being stubborn.

Isabel found the bed impossible to stay in and left it. She paced across the chamber and back again. The stone was cool beneath her feet and she shivered. Which only made her long for Ramon even more.

How had she become dependent on the man in so short a time?

You
are
craven…

She was. And her husband used the weakness against her. So she would simply learn to be without him. She looked at the bar across the door and nodded.

Indeed. Ramon was not the only one who could impress his will upon another. She could as well.

She just wished it did not make her bed feel so lonely.

But wishes never came true. She knew that well.

* * *

“Locked him out of her chamber…”

“She did not!”

Isabel forced her chin to stay level as she walked into the sanctuary the next morning. More than a few curious looks were cast her way before the service began. She stood through it, noticing no one was paying attention to the priest but to her and Ramon, who was standing on the other side of the aisle with his men.

Apprehension filled her as she said the final prayer.

Now
you'll know what sort of man you've wed…

Well, that would be good too. Knowing the truth. She turned and gaped as Ramon strode from the church without a backward glance.

“Look at you,” Mildred admonished her in a hushed whisper. “Looking forlorn when you're the one who barred the door.”

“I'll not be denied—”

“Hush.” Mildred poked her in the ribs to get her moving. Everyone except for Ramon's men was still standing in the sanctuary, waiting for her to leave.

Isabel forced a serene expression onto her face and walked quickly from the church. The moment she cleared the arched doorways, the whispers started.

She would not be swayed.

She increased her pace and left Mildred behind. The tasks waiting for her were many and she devoted herself to them to keep her mind busy. She didn't want to think about the pleasure she'd denied herself the evening before, because it came at the cost of her freedom. Jacques wouldn't want her now that she was wed.

The day went by, the sounds of the building common now. When they stopped, she raised her head. The yard remained quiet, not a single groan from the cranes. She dusted her hands on her apron and went toward the doorway of the keep. The heat of the day was waning, a breeze blowing in with the coolness of night. The sun was on the horizon, the last rays turning the sky orange and scarlet.

The new tower was crimson, its stone lighter in color because it had yet to be weathered. She lifted a hand to shade her eyes as she looked up at it. A prickle of dread touched her nape at the silence. Everything was sitting where it had been left, not a single one of Ramon's men anywhere in sight. It was as if they had vanished.

She trembled, her belly knotted.

There was a soft step behind her. She whirled around, her robes rising up, and saw Ramon looming over her.

“What have we here?” he demanded. “A prize to claim, I think!”

He grabbed her hips and lifted her up, tossing her into the air and over his shoulder.

“Ramon!”

His men laughed from behind the keep, some of them roaring encouragement to their lord. She glanced quickly at their revelry before Ramon carried her down the steps and tossed her over the back of his horse.

“To camp, men!”

“What are you doing?” She wasn't sure if he even heard her demand because she was being bounced with every step the powerful stallion took. Her head ached and her hair worked free, whipping around her face.

Ramon made a wide circle of Thistle Keep, making sure everyone saw him before he headed to the camp his men lived in. She saw the canvas tent walls before he lifted her by her girdle and handed her down to a man. She sputtered and pushed her hair back to find herself facing Ambrose.

“My thanks,” Ramon said as he hoisted her once more and left her hanging over his shoulder.

“Ramon…”

Her protest went unheeded as he pushed through the tent flaps and inside. He lowered her to her feet, but her relief was short-lived. She faced a high bar of steel with a set of chains on it and a thick collar. She shuddered.

“What are you doing?” She stepped away from the chains, fighting the urge to rub her neck because it felt as though the collar were locked around her throat. “What are you thinking you've proved?”

He flopped onto his back in the middle of the bed and contemplated her. “That I understand the way of warfare more than you. It would be simple to lock you in that.”

“So I must accept your will,” she demanded, not caring for how much truth there was in his statement. Beyond the flaps of his tent she heard his men. There was no escape.

He crossed his boots and his lips lifted into an arrogant grin. “At the moment, you must deal with my whims, and I assure you, lady wife, they are carnal in nature.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I think I will not be joining you in that bed.”

“I have already proven that I do not need a bed to enjoy your sweet flesh.”

Excitement brewed inside her. She didn't want to feel a thing, but as was the way with her body when it came to Ramon, there was no controlling the rise of hunger.

“This is preposterous, Ramon. Let us return to the keep.”

His face lost its teasing expression, becoming serious. “I think not.”

“You cannot—”

“Yet there is naught to stop me.”

A new sensation went through her, and this one hurt. It was centered in her heart and grew from the fear starting to tear into her.

Ramon sighed and rolled off the bed. He closed the distance between them and cupped her chin. “Frightening you brings me no pleasure.”

She scoffed at him and backed away. “Yet you abduct me and show me your chains? Is this to show me your tender devotion?”

His eyes flashed with a warning. “Aye. Better you learn the fate Jacques would give you if he is given the opportunity.”

There was a hard note in his voice. She didn't care for how it dredged up the guilt that began to needle her. “You cannot expect me to be happy about having to change the way I live.” Frustration burned through her.

“Yet you were as eager for marriage as I was, Isabel.”

He caught her around her waist with his arm, pulling her against him even as she struggled to avoid him.

She'd melt, she knew it.

She pressed her hands against his chest. “I cannot lose myself.”

He stopped, pulling her close, but stroked his hand along the curve of her hip. It was such a simple touch, yet so tender, it sent a bolt of emotion through her heart.

“Do you think I fear your effect on me any less?”

She was stunned, locking gazes with him and finding something there that she'd never expected.

Uncertainty.

“Men do not—”

“In your case, I do,” he growled. “I cannot stomach the idea of you placing yourself at risk.” He pointed at the collar. “I had that put in here with the intention of making you feel the weight of it, yet I cannot bring myself to put it on you. That is how weak I am now. I cannot even deliver a stern lesson to you.”

Jacques certainly wouldn't have cared how she felt.

Her wrists suddenly itched even though her wounds were long healed. She rubbed them, drawing Ramon's attention. He stalked back to her and folded her into an embrace.

“Take an escort with you if you must leave the keep.”

“It is a waste of men.”

His chest rumbled with a grunt.

“Of course you know such,” Isabel said, disliking the facts. But there was no way to dismiss them. Guilt tore into her, shredding her reasons for being angry.

“I shouldn't have barred the door. I don't know why I did it…only that…I feared I was…”