The Warrior's Reward Page 11

  “But he did not.”

  “Nay, he did not. He took it upon himself to participate in many chivalric quests and when he did not return, Laudine sent a messenger to collect the ring and tell him to never return.”

  “She must have been furious.”

  He gave her a look and a lopsided smile. “Indeed. Owain spent time living as a wild man in the woods and became quite mad. You see, without his wife, he had no one to keep him sane. Without his love, he was lost. But after some time, he began taking part in exploits again. This time, however, they were not for his glory. He helped others and proved himself to be a better man. Laudine accepted him back into her life and her castle when she realised he had changed.” Ieuan twisted his fingers around hers again and lifted her hand to his lips. “You see, Welshmen always return home.”

  “Only because she let him.”

  “Will you let me back into your castle, Rosamunde?”

  “This is your castle.”

  “Then your bed?”

  “’Tis your bed.”

  He shook his head and stood, giving her no choice but to follow him as he still held her hand. “Rosamunde, you do not forgive easily, do you?”

  She pondered this. Mayhap she did not. After all, he had married her under deception, told her she would have to stay a prisoner in his castle and turned her away from his bed on their first night. She couldn’t be sure what it would take to forgive him these things but for some fool reason, she felt herself softening to him after that tale. No doubt that was his intention. They were not true lovers or anything so romantic, but she suspected it was some sort of an apology and it might be all she garnered from him.

  “Are we to away to bed then?” she asked.

  His grin twisted sideways again, making her stomach dip and swoop like a starling diving about the air. “That we are. Come, lady wife.”

  He led her upstairs and she was aware of the men and women of the hall watching them. They couldn’t know that he had not already taken her but while she might not understand men or... or bedding at all, she was fairly certain this night would be it. She would become his completely.

  Her thighs shook as she and her husband continued around the spiral stairs. Air whistled through the arrow loops and outside she spotted bright stars and a half moon that painted the mountaintops in a pale blue. She gulped. Was she ready for this? Was any woman ever ready for this?

  When they reached the top, he ushered her into the room and used his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face him. Ieuan ran his gaze from her head to her toes and his smile grew grim. Heaviness as bitter as iron weighted her stomach. He’d changed his mind. He didn’t want her after all. Mayhap he wanted Sorcha instead.

  “Do I frighten you?”

  Allowing her brow to crease, she shook her head. “Nay.”

  “You are shaking.”

  She swallowed, her dry tongue making the movement hard. “You wish to take me tonight?” His expression faltered. “Nay, you do not, of course you do...” She tried to turn away but he kept her facing him.

  “I wish to take you, Rosamunde, very much. But you are innocent. I have no wish to rush you.”

  After closing her eyes briefly, she drew them open and saw his sincere expression. Had that been why he had delayed their lovemaking? Out of concern for her? Mayhap. Mayhap she had misunderstood him more than she had realised. Mayhap her husband was a better man than she had realised.

  “I am innocent,” she agreed. “’Tis why I shake. I know not how to please a man. My mother died when I was young. I k-know noth—” Her voice cracked with embarrassment.

  “Worry not about pleasing me.” He drew her close and smoothed a palm across her cheek. “You please me already. Let me worry about pleasing you.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant. Was lovemaking not for a man’s pleasure? Aye, she understood that it was to bear children too, but men needed to make love regularly. As far as she knew, it was as essential to them as drinking ale or eating bread.

  But those concerns were lost when he pulled her flush against him. Her nipples strained against the fabric of her gown in response. The need to rub herself against him grew quite unbearable. When he lowered his mouth to hers, she found herself rising up to meet his lips.

  Time slowed, the air thickened. His lips were warm and soft against hers. The taste of mint leaves made her mouth tingle and when his tongue flicked over her lips, she parted them. Ieuan gained access and delved deep, as though drinking the very essence from her. A rumble rose up from his chest as he tasted her, and the sound seemed to vibrate through her to her toes. She trembled, but the primary emotion was no longer fear. It was excitement.

  A palm to her lower back, he urged her closer still. Impossibly close. Her breasts were crushed against that solid wall of muscle and she was aware of his hard thighs against hers. His fingers worked under her hair, stroking the back of her neck and massaging her scalp. But while his caresses were tender, his kiss was not. There was something elemental and raw about it. If she let herself, she’d believe it was a meeting of two souls, but that wasn’t possible.

  “Your hair...” he murmured, drawing it through his fingers. “Like silk.”

  Ah, there was her charming knight again. Apparently he made a reappearance upon kissing her. She would have to kiss him more often, she concluded.

  His fingers moved up her spine until he found the tiny buttons on the back of her gown. He retreated just long enough to press aside her hair and flatten his mouth to the side of her neck. She gasped when wet heat met her sensitive skin. Rosamunde tilted her head—an instinctive reaction—so that he could move his mouth up and down the curve. Tingles raced through her and she dug her nails into his shoulders.

  Ieuan made quick work of her gown, pausing when he came to the leather around her waist. He stepped back and traced the girdle around to where it was tied at the front. His gaze clashed with hers while he untied it and her breaths quickened. It couldn’t be warm in the room—it never was—yet she felt as though someone had lit a thousand fires beneath her feet. The intensity in his gaze made her chest constrict and her heart pound at it like a hammer.

  The girdle fell to the floor and he eased her close once more. Both hands to her face, he skimmed his lips over hers, then across her cheeks, her forehead, her chin and jaw. She closed her eyes and relished the feather-light touch. She felt worshipped, adored, treasured. But not in a false way. Not for something she appeared to be, but for whom she really was.

  Ieuan pushed her gown from her shoulders and together they removed it, flinging it aside and leaving her in her chemise. Rosamunde fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself as his eyes gleamed in the candlelight. His gaze roved over her. He bunched the fabric at the waist and drew her back into him with it. Now she was better able to appreciate the strength of him against the suppleness of her body. Their bodies seemed to mould perfectly together.

  He rubbed his hands over her back and cupped her rear through the linen. His fingers pressed into her flesh and he rocked against her. An ache gathered between her thighs and low in her belly. She rocked back, the need to ease that ache forcing her movements. He released a hiss of breath through his teeth.

  “Hell’s teeth, Rosamunde, touch me.”

  She wasn’t sure what to do but her fingers itched to trace those muscles she’d seen just this morning. Retreating to give her just enough room for movement, she began an exploratory journey with her hands, starting at the nape of his shirt and moving down to trace the hard ridges of his stomach through his clothing. When she reached the bottom of his tunic, he released a grunt and shifted back to tear it over his head. His shirt came next, leaving him golden and beautiful in the candlelight.

  With her heart in her throat, she swayed forward once more and took up where she left off, tracing, stroking, touching. A thin line of hair trailed down into his chausses. Muscles were etched into his body like carved stone. She touched his flat nipples, surprised to see how they ti
ghtened just slightly. And he let her explore. There was no rush. They had their entire lives.

  When her fingers reached his collarbone, she sketched a path along it and over the cords in his neck. She saw his pulse thump steadily there and she leaned forward to press a kiss to it. He tasted slightly salty and more divine than she thought possible.

  “God almighty.”

  Rosamunde snapped back. Had she done something wrong? But his fingers threaded into her hair and urged her close.

  “I want to feel your lips on me again,” he told her softly.

  Powerless to respond in any other way, she lowered her mouth to his neck and skimmed her lips over his bristled skin and down to the smoother skin of his chest. She copied his gentle movements from earlier, brushing her lips this way and that until she found one of his nipples. Unable to resist, she darted her tongue out to lick, and a heavy groan came from him.

  He let her explore him for several more moments before easing her chin up with a finger. He kissed her and began to bunch up her shift. Cool air swirled about her calves, then her thighs, then hips. Her heart beat rapidly, making her vision slightly hazy when he pulled the linen all the way up and over, leaving her bare to him.

  “Are you cold?” The words were coarse and thick, as though he was struggling to say them.

  She shook her head, hands clasped at her sides. She should be but the way he looked at her sent fire licking along her body.

  “Come here.”

  Rosamunde almost fell forward, such was her eagerness to feel his flesh against hers. They both sucked in breaths when her body collided with his. Soft flesh, hard muscle, they connected beautifully. Her nipples pressed taut against his warm skin. She clasped her hands around his neck and stared up at him, waiting for his next move. The twinkle in his eye reminded her of when she had first seen him and how breathtakingly handsome he had been. This night, he had transported her back there. There was no dowry or arrangement with her father or talk of her being this treasure or thoughts of being taken away from her home. This night they were man and woman, knight and lady.

  The connecting of their flesh seemed to unleash something in him. Ieuan didn’t rush her but his kisses grew deeper, hungrier. Rough palms touched her everywhere apart from where she needed it most. When his hands came to her rear, he lifted her.

  “Put your legs around me.”

  She did as he commanded and found herself cradled against him. She rocked, rubbing against the coarse fabric of his chausses. Pleasure singed through her blood. She released a delighted gasp.

  “Oh, Ieuan.”

  “Aye, there’s more, never fear.” He carried her over to the bed and laid her down. “Are you sure you are not cold?”

  “Aye.”

  Rosamunde pressed herself up onto her elbows to watch him as he removed his boots and untied his chausses. The way his muscles flexed and rippled with the movements fascinated her and almost made her forget her nakedness.

  Mouth dry, she watched as he undid his braies and drew them off. She licked her bottom lip. “Goodness.”

  An eyebrow rose and his lips tilted. “I hope I have not disappointed, my lady.”

  She shook her head. She hadn’t really known what to expect. Of course she had seen animals but that was it. He came to the bed and stalked over her, like a beast approaching prey. She couldn’t see his manhood anymore which disappointed her as she found herself eager to view it. Instead she reached down and touched it. He remained propped on his arms just above her and his expression contorted into what she hoped was pleasure. He didn’t move away at least.

  Like steel encased in hot flesh, his arousal was hot and heavy in her hand. She brushed gently then circled it with her fingers. “It’s so hard,” she whispered, aware her words might sound foolish but unable to stop them.

  “For you,” he said, lowering his lips to her bare chest. “All for you,” he murmured against her breast.

  It thrilled her. More so than having suitors knocking at her door or men regarding her with some kind of strange awe. Having this effect on him imbued her with more power than she had ever felt before. She was strong, capable, seductive, commanding. She could do anything.

  Unable to feel him anymore with their bodies crushed so tightly together, she contented herself with tracing the muscles in his back and running her fingers through his hair while the rough bristle of his beard scuffed her skin. She arched into him while he laid kisses to the mounds of her breasts and finally her nipples. He took one into his mouth and she gripped his hair tight. Who knew so much pleasure could be derived from her breasts?

  “Taste like honey.” He kissed the underside of one breast. “Like berries.” He kissed her stomach. “Like nectar.”

  She released a surprised squeak when he dropped a kiss to the inside of her thigh, right by her sex. Placing a gentle hand on her stomach to keep her from wriggling away, he kissed her sex—a light, fluttery kiss that had her internal muscles bunching.

  “Ieuan, you cannot—”

  “Shhh,” he said against the juncture of her thighs.

  The whisper of his breath over her delicate flesh sent a ribbon of pleasure through her. He followed it up with another kiss—harder this time—and she moaned. Clamping a hand across her mouth, she tried to move away but he gripped her hips and held her still.

  Then he ran his tongue over her folds and found a secret spot that had her writhing in pleasure. Around and around, he swirled his tongue, licking, sucking. Shards of bliss speared through her, holding her captive to the sensations. She had never known anything like it. Part of her wanted to fight it, to push him away and ignore the beautiful feelings, but the other part longed to surrender to the unknown pleasure and see where it took her.

  Ieuan made the decision for her. He kept her pinned and drew the aching spot into his mouth. He sucked hard and her whole body tightened. She gripped the bedding, straining for something, but she knew not what. Then a tingling wash of ecstasy overcame her. Eyes clenched tightly shut, she felt it roll through her, from her head to her toes. When it ebbed, she let out a long heavy breath and opened her eyes to find Ieuan hovering over her with a wicked grin on his face. She reached up to trace his mouth but darted her fingers back when she remembered where his mouth had been.

  “’Tis well enough, Rosamunde,” he assured her. He leaned down to kiss her and she shied away but he persisted, pressing a small kiss to her lips. He tasted musky but not disgusting at all. In truth, she wanted to kiss him fully but shame heated her cheeks.

  “’Tis a natural thing.” He stroked her cheek. “There is naught about your body of which you should be ashamed.”

  “But... you kissed me there.”

  “Aye, and I’ll do it again soon. And again. And again. Trust me, Rosamunde, I intend to do that to you for years to come.”

  “But—”

  “It felt good, did it not?”

  “Aye...”

  “I can make it even better.”

  Rosamunde stared into his blue gaze and had no doubt he would. And while it seemed shameful and base, she could not deny she wanted him to kiss her there again.

  “Pleasure between a man and a woman is the most natural thing in the world.”

  He must have sensed her continued doubt. She smiled and gave herself up to him. There was no fighting this, no fighting the charming knight and his beautiful words. “Show me then. Show me more.”

  Ieuan manoeuvred her legs about him, settling himself into the cradle of her thighs. She held her breath when his arousal touched her but his hands worked to soothe away her fears as he cradled her face and kissed her lips.

  “This may be uncomfortable,” he warned her, “but it will get better. Just trust me.”

  Trust him? How was she to trust him? Here was a man who went from charming knight to heartless warrior within a night, but for the moment she did. She at least trusted the man she had in her bed right now. Whether that would change on the morrow, she knew not.

 
; His hips eased forward, pressing down on her sex. She was wet and he gained entrance easily. He continued to push, breaching her not even an inch at a time. His features strained with control, a deep line appeared between his brows. He gazed down at her and she stared back. The idea that they were connected so deeply, in such a primitive way, sent a surge of wonder through her.

  And for a while, she thought it wasn’t too bad. She was stretched but not uncomfortably so. Indeed, it felt more like she had been missing something and that he was fulfilling that empty ache rather than invading. But then he forged forward again and she winced when her body burned and ached. He couldn’t possibly go deeper but he did.

  Rosamunde longed to close her eyes but couldn’t. Mayhap if she shut her eyes, she could will away the pain but he would not allow it. His gaze held hers captive as though he had to see in her eyes the moment they were fully joined.

  His arms trembled a little on the next push. “Rosamunde,” he said softly, “’twill be over soon. I swear it.”

  She was not so sure. The stretching sensation brought tears to her eyes. He cursed softly and bent to kiss them away. And as he eased into her once more and withdrew, she realised he had been rocking ever so gently, backward and forward these last few moments. This time, the pain had lessened. The burning had gone. She held her breath, fearful it might return but when he moved again, a more pleasant ache began to overtake the uncomfortable one.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “Aye, I am well.”

  He nodded and allowed his weight to press onto her. She wrapped her arms about him, able to appreciate the strength of him on top of her now. A sensation of being protected burgeoned in her chest and she nuzzled against his slightly damp skin. She longed to remain cocooned against him forever.

  Ieuan thrust again, gently at first and then with increasing speed. Spiralling pleasure began to blossom through her body but it was different this time. It began deep, deep inside her where their bodies met at the same time as flourishing outside where he had kissed her. Sweet Mary, no one had ever spoken of the pleasure women could gain from bedding. Why had no one ever told her?