Chapter Twenty-six
His torment began with the lightest of touches, feathery strokes along his calves that made him shiver.
“So strong and flawless,” she said, stroking his hard thighs. “The picture of masculine beauty, but why so tense? A thrall does not enjoy my touch?”
“A thrall will bear it,” Duncan said through his teeth. “Though it is like to kill him.”
“Kill him?” Her hands moved past his straining cock to explore the ridges of his belly. “Am I abhorrent to you, then?”
Abhorrent? She was the sweetest thing in life. Duncan’s blood was on fire, and he was shaking with need. How could she ask that? She must know what she did to him. The evidence of his desire was undeniable.
I cannot do this, he thought in desperation. He’d been delusional to think that he could bear it.
Her hands moved to his chest, her fingers caressing his nipples, and he fisted the bed linens to keep from yanking her into his arms. She took one of his nipples in her mouth, her right hand sliding down his belly.
Her hand closed around him once more. “My, you’re tense here, too, and very strong,” she murmured, stroking the rigid length of him.
She pressed hot kisses down his belly. Duncan, realizing her goal with a surge of panic, raised his head from the pillow. Cassandra’s pale hair was spread across his belly in a silken fan. The sight was so beautiful, so intimate that Duncan’s heart clenched.
“Nay, Cassandra.” His voice was hoarse with strain. “Do not.”
She paused, her mouth but scant inches from his cock. “What is this?” Her tongue flicked out, tasting him. “A thrall would say me nay?” “A thrall would beg you—”
She took him in her mouth, and Duncan was lost. The heat of her mouth, the delicious, seductive pull of her lips, the stroke of her tongue were his undoing. Pride be damned, and their “bargain” with it. He resolved to end this farce, and now. And if she made a fool of him? So be it. That dog was out of the cage, in any event. He was a fool for Cassandra, always had been, always would be.
Reaching down, he grabbed her by the arms and dragged her up his body. He wrapped his hands in her hair and tugged her face close to his. “I warn you, Cassandra. There is but so much a warrior can take.”
She raised her brows, haughty as any queen. “A thrall does not warn. A thrall obeys.”
He rolled over, pinning her beneath him. “Behold me defiant.”
She gazed up at him, a wrinkle of displeasure etched between her brows. “We had an agreement. It was my turn.”
“No more turns. And to the Pit with our agreement.”
Her lush mouth parted in surprise, then she stiffened and pulled away. “But you said—”
“I know what I said—believe me—but ’tis a vow I cannot keep.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sighed and rested his forehead on hers. “I know you do not, and more’s the pity.” He raised his head and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “’Twould be better an I show you.”
She gazed up at him, an expression of wary curiosity in her indigo eyes. “Okay.”
“I would hear you say it.”
“Yes, Duncan, I want you to show me. Pretty please with cherries on top.”
He sat back on his haunches and flipped her over.
“Duncan? What are you doing?”
“Demonstrating,” he said, sheathing himself inside her feminine channel. “This is what you want, is it not?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, wriggling her hips to take him deeper. “And clearly, you want it, too.”
She was right, the gods help him. She was snug and warm and wet, and he wanted her. His greedy body took over, and he pounded inside her, stroke upon hard stroke. She responded, clenching around him as she neared her completion.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled free of her sweet flesh and sat back on his thighs.
“Duncan?” She reclined on one hip and regarded him from beneath sultry lids. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something is wrong. You want to boink, and I do not.”
Her lips parted in shock. She went very pale, and then flushed. “Well, excuse me,” she said, scrambling for the edge of the bed. “Obviously, I’ve made a mistake.”
He lunged, catching her by the waist, and pulled her into his lap. “I do not want to boink. I want to make love to you.”
“I suppose you think there’s a difference?”
“Of a certainty there is a difference, a vast distance.” Duncan gave her a little shake. “I am in love with you, you impossible woman. I have always been in love with you. I misdoubt I will ever stop.”
She shrank from him then, his wary love. He could see the old shadow of distrust in her eyes.
“You do not believe me,” Duncan sighed. “For that, I have myself to blame. But I tell you this, here and now, and I bid you listen for once, my stubborn hornet. I love you. That is who I am. I do not know how to be anything else, save the warrior who loves his Cassandra.”
She lowered her eyes, one finger tracing the line of his collarbone. “I see. And if I can’t or won’t return your feelings?”
He took a deep breath. “Then I will remain your thrall, but know this. When we engage in coitus, you will be boinking, but I will be making love. Do I make myself plain?”
“Crystal clear.”
“I wanted you to know. I wish there to be no dissemblance between us.” Duncan studied her face, trying to guess her reaction, but ’twas impossible. She sat very still, her eyes lowered. “Cassandra?”
She looked up at him, then, her lips trembling. “Wherever did you learn that ridiculous word?”
“What word?”
“Boink.”
Duncan frowned. He’d poured out his heart to her, laid his soul bare, and she wished to discuss his vocabulary? “Evan.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Cassandra straightened. “Very well, thrall. You have permission to make love to me.”
“I do?” Duncan’s blood sang. “I feared you would be displeased and send me away.”
“If I had, would you have gone?”
“Nay. I will not leave you again.” He wrestled with himself a moment, and added, “Though I will not stand in your way, an you wish to be with another.”
“Liar.” She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to make do, then. A hard thrall is good to find.”
“Do you not mean—” He grasped her meaning and chuckled. “Brazen wench.”
Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her the way he’d longed to kiss her for years past counting, worshipping her with his mouth and tongue. With a little moan, she parted her lips and took him in, brushing her tongue against his. “Cassandra,” he groaned against her mouth.
Catching her hair in his hands, he tilted her head, exposing the smooth column of her throat, and trailed kisses down to her collarbone. Moving his mouth lower, he licked her rosy nipples until she was shivering and moaning. Taking a wet peak in his mouth, he sucked until the pebbled tip was hard against his tongue.
“Duncan.” Cassandra’s eyes were closed, and her pulse was visible in her throat. “That feels so . . .”
“Good? Right? Perfect? I think so, too.”
He pushed her onto her back and spread her thighs until she was open and vulnerable to him. She watched him, unabashed. She was his fierce, untamed sorceress, and he loved her to distraction.
His breath caught in his throat. “Ah, Cassandra, you are so lovely.”
The flesh between her legs was a delicate pink that deepened to red, and she was wet with arousal. He caressed her there, stroking the damp, golden curls and her glistening opening until she was writhing and gasping. Later, he would kiss and lick her there, tasting her as she shuddered around him, but first . . .
Lowering his body over hers, he thrust inside her. His skin was on fire, and his heart was pounding fit to burst. She was warm and slick, and tight.
Ah, he thought, wanting to weep from the sheer perfection of it. After a lifetime of darkness and despair, he was where he belonged.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on, tilting her pelvis to take him deeper. He groaned, thrusting his hips faster, the slow, exquisite pressure building at the base of his spine. Little lightning streaks danced behind his eyes. She was close, oh so close. He could feel the ripples of ecstasy along his shaft.
And then she was over the edge, taking him with her. Duncan called her name and let go, giving himself to her, heart and soul.
* * *
Cassie awoke in Duncan’s arms. Morning light poured through the skylight in pale, buttery beams that warmed the gleaming wood floor. Duncan had been insatiable, and the memory of his amorous attentions gave her a shiver of delight. Her breasts and the place between her legs were tender, but it was a pleasant ache, and Cassie found that she was eager for more. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone, and she couldn’t seem to get enough.
Can’t get enough of Duncan, you mean, her inner voice smirked. Might as well admit it. You’re not fooling anyone.
The squeam was right. Cassie couldn’t get enough of Duncan. She didn’t want anyone else. And in keeping with her determination to be honest with herself, she admitted that she never had. Her affairs had been brief and unsatisfying, junk food without any substance. It had always been Duncan, right down the line.
She waited for the old panic to set in, but her serenity remained undisturbed. He said he loved her, and she believed him. The open, bleeding wound his departure had left had healed, and she’d forgiven him. She forgiven herself.
And? the squeam prodded.
And she trusted him, which was a huge, big whoop-de-do deal, given their history.
And?
Cassie’s introspection ended as Duncan stirred and pulled her close, giving her a long, lingering kiss that made her blood heat to a slow boil. They were facing one another, and he hiked her left hip over his right thigh and entered her slowly, taking his time. They fit together perfectly, pieces of a mysterious puzzle that had been lost and found.
“Sore?” he murmured against her mouth as he slowly withdrew and entered her again.
“A little, but—” Cassie moaned as her body responded to his, the tingling ache building and building. “I don’t care. Don’t stop.”
“As milady commands,” he said, increasing the sensuous rhythm.
He really is amazing, Cassie thought as she spiraled into pleasure. Quite, quite amazing, and he was hers.
Afterward, she lay sprawled on top of him, her knees on either side of his waist, her breasts crushed against his hard, muscular chest, her left cheek resting on his shoulder. She reached out with one hand and played with his hair. “Gorgeous, like the rest of you,” she said.
“What is?”
“Your hair. Don’t ever cut it.”
“An it pleases you, I will not.”
“It pleases me. You please me.” She rose on her knees and, taking his face in her hands, bent to kiss him. “Duncan, I—”
A bell chimed somewhere below them in the tree, and Duncan sat up, taking her with him. “Ah,” he said. “Breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” Cassie said, startled. “How . . . I mean, who . . .?”
“You will see.” Giving her a quick kiss, he slid from the bed and padded across the room to a heavily carved walnut armoire that sat against one wall. He opened the wardrobe, took out a long black robe, and donned it, tying the sash around his lean waist. The garment snugged his broad shoulders and opened in a deep vee at the throat, exposing the hard planes of his chest.
Reaching inside the armoire, he took out a second robe. “You should dress, else Nettle will catch you abed,” he said, handing her the robe. “He is nothing if not efficient. The food will be here anon.”
“Nettle?”
“A piskie. I freed him from the mage who’d most cruelly bound him, and now he serves me.” Duncan shrugged. “Of his own accord, and not at my behest. Piskies cannot bear to be in another’s debt.”
“How long has he served you?”
“I forget. Some eight centuries, I believe.”
Eight centuries. Shaking her head at this, Cassie slipped into the robe, a white silk garment that brushed the tops of her feet. She was cinching the luxurious robe at her waist when the door opened and the strangest little man she’d ever seen bustled into the room with an empty tray. He was short and old in appearance, with a brown, wrinkled face like a withered plum, a long, hooked nose, and bright red hair. His unshod feet were disproportionately large and wide for his frame, with long, hairy toes, and he was dressed in moss and lichen.
He stomped over to Duncan and said something in a coarse little voice that reminded Cassie of a squirrel’s chucking.
“Thank you, Nettle,” Duncan said with a nod. “We will come at once.”
The piskie barked something sharp at Duncan and disappeared.
“Nettle informs me that our repast awaits on the terrace,” Duncan said, his lips twitching. “He says the scones grow cold.”
“Scones?” Cassie perked up. “What are we waiting for?”
It was a beautiful morning, warm and clear, and the blue sky above was dotted with fleecy white clouds. A small table on the porch had been set with snowy linen and china. They were at the top of the enormous tree with a view of the lea and the surrounding woods. The meadow was thick with oxeye sunflowers and asters, and the river gleamed in the distance.
Standing at the rail, gazing down at the silvery-green canopy, it struck Cassie that she’d never seen a tree like this one before. “This is a very unusual tree. What kind is it?”
“I do not think it has a name. The seed from whence it sprang was a gift from Conlaoch, one of the Tuath Dè Danan. I rescued him from a rather sticky business, for which he was grateful.”
“First Nettle, and now this Conn fellow? You’ve been a busy boy.”
“I have lived a very long time, Cassandra, and been bestowed great power. I would not be much of a warrior should I refuse to lend succor to those in need.”
“It’s a very big tree. You must have planted it a long time ago.”
“Nay. I planted the seed when I purchased the land from Lucy Hall.”
“But that’s not—” Cassie stared at him. “Magic?”
Duncan inclined his head. “But of course. ’Twas a very special seed.”
Stranger things had happened, and this was Hannah.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “The most beautiful tree in the world.”
The branches beneath them shivered, though the day was windless.
“The tree is delighted by your praise. What of the house? Does it please you as well?”
“Oh, yes,” Cassie said. “I love it. I’ve always wanted a tree house.”
“Then it is yours.”
She turned from the rail in surprise. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. This is your home.”
“You are my home, Cassandra. All that I have is yours—my life, my heart, my body.”
“But I have a house.”
He shrugged. “Now you have two. Come.” He held out his hand. “We must eat lest we provoke Nettle’s wrath.” They breakfasted on poached eggs, warm scones with fresh butter, berries, and a variety of delicate cheeses, washing the whole down with cups of fragrant hot tea sweetened with honey.
“Nettle does not eat meat,” Duncan said in a voice heavy with regret. “The mage who bound him forced him to subsist on rabbit ears. Like many of his kind, Nettle is surpassing fond of cream and sweets, you see, and the mage withheld his favorites to force his compliance and bend him to his will.”
“Rabbit ears?” Cassie shuddered. “That’s horrible.”
“Aye. To this day, the very sight of a rabbit makes Nettle weep.”
“What happened to the wizard when you freed Nettle?”
“Nettle turned him into a hare and loosed the hounds on him. They caught him and ate him.”
Cassie blinked. “Goodness. Remind me not to make him angry.”
“Only a fool earns the enmity of the piskie folk.”
As if summoned by their conversation, Nettle appeared and began to clear the table.
“Thank you, Nettle,” Cassie said. “Breakfast was delicious.”
The piskie chittered something at her and scurried away. Cassie was wondering whether she’d insulted the funny little man, when a gruff, familiar bark drew her to the rail. A large, shaggy wolfhound mix trotted out of the woods and across the flowering meadow.
“It’s Toby,” Cassie said. “I wonder what he wants?”
The dog shook a spray of water from his coat and sniffed the bole of the tree. The wolfhound’s form blurred and Toby stood looking up at them. He was wearing jeans and a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt, and his dark hair was wet.
“There you are,” he said. “Been looking for you. What in tarnation you doing up a tree?”
“This is Duncan’s new house. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It’s a pip. Sorry to horn in, but you got company. They were waiting in the woods near the top of the driveway when I brought Verbena home. For some reason, that was as far as they could go. Me and Verbena drove right on through.”
Duncan grunted. “I placed wards about the property to keep out strangers in my absence.”
“Huh,” Toby said. “That explains it.”
“Who is it, Toby?” Cassie asked.
“Werewolves—a woman and a little girl. The kid’s in bad shape.” Toby’s mismatched gaze found Duncan. “The woman’s asking for you. Says Mac sent her.”
“Mac’s dead,” said Cassie. “Where’s Verbena?”
“At the house. Don’t fret, she’s all right. Your visitors can’t get past the wards, remember?”
Cassie turned to Duncan. “What do you think?”
“I think Mac’s mother and sister have come to me for help, and I shall give it. I gave Mac my word.”
“Hey, Cass,” Toby yelled. “If you mean to take up here, you need to build a bridge, or at least have a dock and a boat. I ain’t swimming across the river every time I get a hankering to say howdy.”
“He’s got a point,” Cassie said to Duncan. “We are rather isolated here.”
“My fiendish design exactly,” Duncan said, jerking her into his arms and kissing her.
Cassie wrapped her arms around Duncan and returned his embrace, her tongue stroking his. He tasted of honey and scones and the berries they had eaten. The world called and their idyll was over, but they still had this moment.
“Ha-loo?” Toby called from the bottom of the tree. “Anybody up there?”
Or maybe not.