Chapter Twenty Seven
Tristan urged Tom to gallop faster through the narrow winding streets, dodging livestock and wagons piled high with sacks of grain, fish, lumber, and other goods. He could not wait to have his wife in his own bed, naked for him to love.
“Slow down, Tristan,” she said, although her command was given through bursts of laughter.
“You ask too much of me,” he said, before pressing his lips hard to hers. Then, holding her even tighter, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks, pushing his mount even faster. The road grew broader as they neared his three-story stone townhouse. When they reached the gate, Rose stared up at his richly appointed home. “Am I truly mistress of all this?” Rose asked, her voice soft with awe.
He laughed. “You are mistress of so much more than you realize, Rose Thatcher.” He leapt to the ground and swept her down beside him. “This is just one of many estates.”
“Welcome, Captain Thatcher.”
Tristan turned to greet his manservant. “Thank you, Peter,” he said and handed off his reins.
“We received your message,” Peter said in a low voice. “All your requests have been met.”
Tristan nodded his approval, then he turned to Rose. “Meet Peter. He keeps things shipshape here.”
Rose dipped in a curtsy. “I am pleased to meet you, Peter. My name is Rose.”
Peter appeared flustered. “I…er…it is a pleasure, Mistress Thatcher.”
Tristan smiled and pulled her toward the stairs.
“Did I say something wrong?” Rose asked, her brows drawn.
Tristan smiled. “Not at all. It is only that the mistress of a house does not typically curtsy to servants.”
Rose went from looking perplexed to upset. “Have I already behaved badly? I’m sorry, Tristan.”
He stopped just in front of the door. Pulling her close, he said, “Never stop being who you are, Rose. You are who I fell in love with.”
She smiled then and threw her arms around his neck. “I love ye straight to my bones,” she said, laughing.
He scooped her into his arms just as Peter hurried past them and threw open the door. Servants filled the entryway. “Good day, everyone,” Tristan said as he barreled past the onlookers and up the stairs. “I will introduce you to the rest of the staff and give you the tour later,” he promised. “But right now, I want to make love to my wife.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Say it again,” she begged.
“I want to make love to my wife!”
He thundered down the hallway, passing numerous doors. When he reached the master bedroom, the door was slightly ajar. He kicked it open and entered.
Rose gasped. “’Tis beautiful.”
Candlelight illuminated the room. Wild flowers, in crystal vases, decorated every surface. In the center of the room a tub gave off puffs of steam. There was wine, bread, and cheese on a small table near the hearth.
“First,” he said, setting her on her feet. “I am going to bathe you with the finest soaps and scented oils from faraway lands.” He turned her about and started to untie her laces. “And then, I am going to kiss every inch of your body,” he said, sweeping her layers of clothing over her head.
She whirled around, her glorious red curls skimming her waist and framing her full breasts. “I might want a say in what we do,” she said, stroking her hands up his chest, then wrapping her arms around his neck. He groaned when she pressed her naked curves against his body. “That’s a very big tub. I think ye should climb in with me.”
Her lips seized his, her tongue plunging hungrily into his mouth. He crushed her against himself, bending her back, his tongue stroking hers. When he straightened, she started to fumble with his belt. “I want to touch ye,” she said, tugging the cord around his waist. Then, she released a frustrated breath. In a flash, she had the dirk from his boots in her hand. She cut through his belt. Then she smiled up at him. “That’s better.”
His heart pounded. “My God, you’re amazing!”
Hunger filled her eyes. She flashed a temptress’s smile at him before pushing his tunic up his chest, exposing his skin. Immediately, her full lips kissed the ridges of his stomach and traveled across his chest. She pushed his tunic up as high as she could reach. He seized the fabric and pulled it over his head. Then he freed himself from her embrace to kick off his boots and strip off his hose.
“Forget the bath,” Rose said, pulling him toward the bed.
“Forgotten,” he growled before he lifted her in his arms and laid her down on her back. Her eyes were limpid slits, heavy with desire as she opened her arms to him. He stretched over her. A frenzy of feelings and desire shot through him. His lips seized hers, his tongue delving into her mouth, pulling soft moans from her lips. His hands stroked down her trim waist and over the flare of her hips. Her legs spread beneath him, wrapping around his waist.
“I need ye,” she pleaded, her heart pounding. Her body ached, burning with a hunger she had never known. She craved his touch, his lips on her skin. Arching her back, she pressed her hips into the hard length of him. “Please, Tristan.”
She gripped his shoulders and buried her face in his neck as he slowly entered her. Clinging to him, she squeezed her eyes shut, the need rising within her, igniting like hot fire into a blaze that spread throughout her body. When he filled her completely, she pressed against him, savoring the thick feel of him before he eased out, and then thrust deep again.
She cried out. The ache within her grew, causing her to writhe beneath him. Her hips met his every thrust as consuming need surged through her until she thought she would burst. Higher and higher. Deeper and deeper. She threw her head back, arching into him, feeling his weight, surrounded by his scent, and then, at last, she cried out as rapture pulsed through her, leaving her breathless and spent in his arms.
Moments later, his own cry shattered the air around her. He held her tightly while his body quaked, and he poured himself into her.
When their hearts ceased to race, and their breathing calmed, he rolled off of her and gathered her in his arms. “I still cannot believe how you drifted into my life,” he whispered in her ear.
She smiled up at him. “I would weather any storm to lie in yer strong arms.” She pushed against his chest until he lay on his back. She sat up and stroked her hand down his cheek. “I love ye, Tristan. With my whole heart do I love ye.”
He sat up and seized her face between his hands and kissed her long and hard. When he pulled away, his gaze bore into hers. “I love ye, too, Rose.”
She threw her arms around his neck, then ran her hands down his back, which was slick with sweat.
She laughed and wiped at the beads of sweat on her own brow. “Mayhap, ‘tis time for that bath.”