Sword for His Lady Page 17

  It was too much. She shuddered, her heart thumping madly. Her head felt as though it were spinning and she didn’t care. But her knees wobbled, like they wouldn’t hold her weight any longer. She wanted to sink down and just writhe against him.

  He slid an arm around her waist, binding her against him as he deepened the kiss. Demanding more from her, which she eagerly gave. Their tongues met and stroked in a motion that was carnal and welcome.

  Every other thought slipped away, leaving her nothing but the desire to sate herself on his hard flesh.

  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 e
very 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.

  Eight

  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 t
he 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.