Chapter Ten

 

“Merry! Wake up!”

“Sweet child, we’re here. You’re safe.”

Voices pulled Merry from her gripping nightmare. She opened her eyes, suddenly free of the weight that had held her immobile a moment earlier.

Ferguson was gone. The flame of a candle danced before Adelle’s worried visage. The large shadow next to her came into the sphere of candlelight revealing Luke, his dark hair unkempt from lying in bed.

“’Twas merely a dream, lady,” he added, holding her stricken gaze.

Disconcerted, feeling as though if she let her eyelids close, she’d return to the fearful nightmare, Merry sat up, pulling the bed linens with her as a shield. She found her mouth as dry as a shallow riverbed before the spring rains.

“May I have a drink, please?”

The baroness left the room to fetch her one, taking the candle with her and leaving Merry and Luke in the dark.

“A moment,” he said and disappeared from view. Merry shivered as the memories pressed in on her.

A second later, a candle flared to life and then another. Returning to her bedside, he looked down at her, seemingly discomfited. “You suffered a frightful dream, yes?”

Caught up in the vestiges of her terror, Merry pulled her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around them to quell her tremors. The memory of Luke’s kiss earlier that day helped to dispel them.

“Are you cold?’ he asked.

“Aye,” she said, though the memory had warmed her considerably. “I left the window open for Kit.”

He turned away to secure the shutters, muttering something about her cat, which she failed to catch. Then he added a peat brick to the brazier and relit it. A cheerful flame leaped up, brightening the chamber still more. At that moment, the baroness reappeared, bearing a goblet.

“For you, my dear,” she crooned. “This ought to comfort you.” Handing it to Merry, she tossed Luke a quick, disapproving frown.

Tipping the goblet to her lips, Merry inhaled the comforting aroma of mulled wine spiced with cloves. With the first sip, it warmed her stomach but failed to snuff out the fluttering that had taken up residence there.

“Better?” Adelle laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Aye, thank you,” Merry said, strangely desirous that the woman should leave them alone. Why, when Luke could not be trusted to behave as he should. “You needn’t stay with me,” she added, including Luke in her look but holding his gaze a split second longer than she ought. “I’m fine, really. ’Twas only a dream. Mayhap the room was too cold.” She looked back at the baroness and nodded. “It’s much warmer now.”

Luke stirred the fire with a brand, keeping his gaze on her. Adelle adjusted Merry’s blankets, clearly reluctant to leave. “Are you certain? I wouldn’t want you to suffer such dreams again.”

“I won’t,” Merry assured her.

“Well, then.” The baroness sent Luke a pointed look. “We shall leave you to your slumbers, then. You have a long ride in the morning,” she added, her shoulders slumping at the thought. Rising slowly, she moved to the door waiting for Luke to join her.

He set the fire brand aside, sent Merry a questioning glance, and followed. The baroness shut the door firmly behind them.

A powerful, overwhelming need to call him back had her biting her lower lip. Why should she desire his company when he’d made it clear he wished to be free of her—only to contradict that assertion by kissing her as if he meant never to let her go. He’d kissed her as though her kiss alone could appease a fire raging in him. Its intensity had frightened her, aye. As had the steely length of his manhood prodding her belly with insistence.

Yet she hadn’t been so much frightened as dazed—dazed by some deep, inexplicable yearning to be overcome by his possession, to let him ravish her in the way that she most feared. It made no sense!

On the morrow, he would take her to Helmsley and leave her there. Nor should she forget he had a future wife awaiting him.

Forget him, she advised herself. Forget the dark angel who had rescued her and defended her against all others. He was more than she could ever have.

The sweet, spiced wine weighted her limbs and filled her with an ache of emptiness. Luke found her appealing, that much was obvious. Yet that was not enough to win him in the way she wished. She could never have him for her own—for he was a favorite of the king and, thus, already spoken for.

It might have been a few minutes that she’d sat contemplating; it might have been an hour when the low moan of the door opening snatched up her startled gaze. She knew at once who it was, even before the white sleeve of Luke’s nightshirt betrayed him. And

She swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he put his back to it whilst he regarded her from a distance. He held himself rigidly. “Do you want me here?” His voice was thick, low and . . . uncertain.

Did she? Her pride warred with the constant longing he inspired. Perhaps she stood some chance of swaying him still. Seizing that notion, she lifted her goblet by way of answer.

As he pulled the string through the hole, keeping anyone outside from lifting the latch, her heart began to thump like a trapped rabbit. This was it—her only chance to change his mind about taking her to Helmsley. Whatever it took to secure that outcome, she knew she would do it.

As he approached her, she saw he wore only loose linen drawers beneath his nightshirt and nothing on his feet. She sucked in a steadying breath to calm herself. The ropes creaked and they both froze, glancing toward the door in expectation of Lady Iversly’s interference.

Taking the forgotten goblet from her hand, he noted it was nearly empty then finished the wine before lowering it to the floor. He straightened, looked at her, and sighed.

“Will you tell me about your dream,” he requested.

A shiver threatened to chase away her warmth, but she longed to exorcise the visions from her mind by sharing them. “I’ve dreamed it before many times, a terrifying dream of Ferguson, except it started with Cullin. He came in through the window, his face covered in blood.”

The muscles in Luke’s face seemed to tighten. “And then?”

“Then he turned into the Scot who killed my father.” She scratched her cheek, wondering how much to tell him, whether it served her any purpose to revisit that all too real nightmare.

 

 

Luke remembered the name distinctly. “Your mother’s husband mentioned him.”

A stricken look entered her eyes, and she nodded. Sitting as she was, with her knees drawn to her chest, she looked no bigger than a child. Only Luke knew what curves lay hidden under her nightdress. He was a fool to have returned to her chamber. That afternoon’s debacle had made it painfully clear his desire for Merry exceeded the bounds of his self-control.

Yet after seeing her shaken to the core minutes earlier, he’d been incapable of staying away. He’d assured himself he would comfort her without becoming entangled again. A part of him knew that was a bold lie.

“He raped my mother,” she whispered. “He took her to the upper chamber, and I followed them . . .”

Her words chased all lascivious thoughts from his mind. “You don’t have to tell me this,” he assured her, ashamed of his private weakness where she was concerned.

She shook her head. “Nay, let me. I have never spoken the words aloud to anyone. My father’s body was still warm, lying on the floor of our dining hall. I took a knife from the table and slipped away from the other invaders.” Her words became punctuated as though she could barely push them from her throat. “I intended to stab Ferguson in the back, to kill him before he could do us any more harm. But he was . . . he was leaning over my mother, whose face he’d pushed into the mattress. I could barely see her beneath him.”

She broke off, her face a picture of horror and disgust. “I wanted to stab him, but I could do nothing.” She raised her eyes to him, her face ravaged with guilt. “I was frozen by fear, a stupid child, standing, trembling, all the while letting him hurt her!”

Casting caution to the wind, and perhaps sealing his fate, he moved up the bed to sit beside her, leaning his back against the dark oak headboard. Then, against all sense, he put an arm around her, responding purely to the comfort she required.

Beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress, her form felt icy and stiff.

“Calm, lady,” he said, feeling her tremble against him. “You mustn’t blame yourself. That supper knife would not have stopped him in any case, like a bee sting to a wolf. Likely it would have angered him enough to turn his sickening attack on you.” He paused, thinking of how a violent warrior with lust in his heart would react.

“Nothing would have stopped him. ’Twas out of your control. How old were you then?”

“Fourteen years,” she whispered, seeming to take his words to heart.

“So a slip of a girl is expected to defend her home from a band of killers? Is that not asking too much? Even of you,” he added softly, knowing she was brave and fierce.

“Perhaps,” she conceded quietly.

“Aye, certes.” He stroked her arm with sweeping motions, entranced by how she warmed beneath his touch. She leaned toward him, seeming to grow drowsy, her head on his shoulder, her lips by his ear.

“I have dreamt many times that Ferguson did, in fact, do the same to me as to my mother,” he heard her reflect. “For I stood there a long time, and then awakened in my room, sleeping with my sisters.”

A thought ran through him like a sword. God’s mercy, had the Scotsman raped Merry as well? He drew back, seeking an answer in her faraway expression.

“He was like the devil in our midst,” she continued. “At my trial at the priory, I was asked if the devil had violated me, and I told them perhaps he had. I couldn’t remember.” She rubbed her forehead as if the truth were locked inside. “I condemned myself with that foolish confession.”

Luke swallowed, his mouth suddenly as dry as dirt.

“Do you remember now?” he asked, though forsooth, he didn’t wish to know.

She gazed up at him and shook her head. “As I said, I have had the dream many times. So often that it seems he did. I can’t recall. Did I wander away from my mother’s terrible assault and fall asleep? Or did he attack me as well, causing me to swoon? Mayhap someone then carried me to my sisters. I know not.”

Luke found his lips against her forehead. Bloodlust bubbled up in him as he kissed it. If Ferguson were alive, he’d have found a way to avenge the man himself. Little wonder Merry had struggled in his arms from the first day he’d touched her. After what she’d suffered, how could she have known Luke intended her no harm?

Then Cullin had brought the memory to life again.

“I’m sorry. I should not have held you so tightly this afternoon—”

She cut his apology short. “I’ve dreamt of you as well.”

He pulled back, disconcerted that she might have confused the violence Ferguson had wrought with something he had done.

“What have you dreamed?” he dared to ask.

“That we met in a field of buttercups.” A hint of a smile danced on her lips, seducing him. “You whirled me around and around, and made me dizzy. I saw the flowers reflected gold in your eyes.”

Her answer both reassured him and disconcerted him. “Is that all?” he asked gruffly.

The mellow light could not conceal her pretty blush. When she licked her lower lip uncertainly before answering, it was nearly his undoing.

“You kissed me,” she added, “as you did today. Except you kissed me . . . everywhere.” She lowered her lashes then.

He ought to be used to it by then—her ability to catch him utterly off guard, to reduce him to an instinctive male without any ability to reason whatsoever. Did she know what she was doing, flirting with him so openly? He was throbbing, both in the region of his chest, as its beat sped up at her words, and lower, as his body appreciated the sensual scene she portrayed.

“Why did you kiss me today,” she demanded, growing suddenly assertive, “when you mean to wash your hands of me anon?”

He shifted his position hoping to conceal the evidence of his arousal.

“Truly, I haven’t an answer for that,” he admitted finally. “Where you are concerned, I seem to do a number of things for no definable reason.” He sent her a self-deprecating smile.

“You didn’t mean to kiss me?” She sounded suddenly disappointed.

“Nay—well, not at first.”

“Yet you seemed to like it.”

A chuckle broke free of him. “I must confess, I did.”

Their conversation not only quickened his heart’s rhythm, it shortened his breath, making him acutely aware of her woman’s scent as she shifted.

“Can coupling be as pleasant as kissing?” Her innocent question aroused him further.

He took a bracing breath. “It can be.” He strove to keep his tone even.

“Yet at times, it can be awful,” she deduced, “painful and unnatural. I’ve seen that!”

“You mistake pleasurable swiving with rape,” he corrected.

“What’s the difference?”

Was she serious? He frowned at her earnest face. “Surely you know the answer already,” he replied, determined to stay neutral.

“Do I? Will I ever know?”

Her rhetorical questions puzzled him.

“What if I die before I’m ever wed?” she answered more specifically. “What if I’m hanged as a heretic, or burned as I was meant to burn before. If so, then I will never learn the difference between desiring a man and being forced.”

His heart thudded with sudden intensity. Was she asking him to volunteer a demonstration? “You won’t die a maiden, lady,” he reassured her, idiotically patting her hand with his, when what he really wanted to do was to suck her delicate fingers until she begged him to take her.

“Tomorrow, I’ll bring you to Helmsley to ensure your future. One day, you’ll have a husband to satisfy your curiosity, no doubt.” Even as he spoke the words, he didn’t like the idea of Merry lying with a man.

His gaze flickered down to where her nightdress gaped open, exposing the tops of her breasts for his viewing, and even the top crescent of a pink nipple. He quelled a groan of desire. Her skin looked as soft as fresh cream. There she was, vulnerable and in his arms, querying him about the act of copulation.

He couldn’t believe he’d put himself in such a tenuous position. At the same time, anticipation thickened his blood, and he couldn’t have moved from her side if the room were aflame.

“There isn’t a man alive who would wish to wed me,” she argued, half turning in his arms, pressing her breasts, unwittingly but enticingly, against his side while she tilted her head to look at him. “I’m too old to catch a man’s eye to be his blushing bride. And lest you forget, I’ve been accused of attempting to murder the prioress and condemned for heresy. I’ve ever been too outspoken, too willful.” She shook her head, making her breasts jiggle and his shaft stiffen further.

“In any case, I have no wish to marry. If I survive the Church’s persecution, then I will find a place to ply my trade as a healer. I’m sure I would be successful if given half a chance. A husband would only interfere with my plans.”

He smiled faintly at her confidence and found he preferred the thought of her as a spinster healer rather than a wife. Though her warm and luscious body never knowing the pleasure of climaxing, why, that seemed a terrible waste, indeed.

“What about you?” she asked quite suddenly, interrupting his lascivious, inappropriate thoughts. “Will you take a wife?”

He realized the time to extricate himself had passed. Merry had pinned him with her green gaze, and there was no getting away without answering. “Eventually,” he prevaricated.

“According to Philippe, you are betrothed. To a cousin of the king himself,” she charged, her voice taking on a stronger edge.

Damn Philippe and his flapping tongue! Luke felt his irritation surge. He had no wish to discuss Lady Amalie nor, for that matter, the king. Neither of them had any place in Merry’s bedchamber. Yet it was just as well that she knew, he realized, tamping down his disappointment. She could come to no conclusions as to any possible future for them, and she ought to allow him no liberties. Not a kiss, not a touch.

“I am,” he acknowledged in a neutral voice.

“Is she beautiful?” she inquired, relentless in her quest for information.

Luke stirred, removing his arm from around her shoulders. “Aye,” he said shortly. Amalie was lovely. More importantly, she was his betrothed . . . and he was lying in bed with Merry, holding her close. “I should go. You will need your rest for the journey ahead of us.”

To his astonishment, she lurched to a sitting position and then rose on her knees, shoving him back against the pillows.

“Nay, you’ll not go,” she bit out, refusing to let him rise. “Not until I have your apology for toying with me.”

“I never meant to toy—”

She cut short his protests by placing her palms on his shoulders and holding him there. “You lie,” she answered back, her tone belligerent. “You talked to me as if my thoughts carried weight with you. You kissed me and taught me what it feels like to know desire. How can you say you never toyed with me?”

He gazed up at her, tongue-tied. Looming over him, her plaits lying heavy upon her breasts, he found he understood her anger and even rejoiced in it. Apparently, she felt the same longing for him that he did for her, and she had a right to vent her frustration. If he’d never kissed . . .

“Apologize,” she demanded, tightening her grip.

The good Lord knew he was equally frustrated with no outlet. Yes, he was content to be the focus of her anger and blame.

“I am sorry,” he said sincerely. And he was—sorry that he’d agreed so readily when the king proposed the beneficial betrothal betwixt himself and Amalie, sorry he hadn’t met this inviting, intriguing, desire-inducing woman first.

Given the tightening of her mouth, his words failed to mollify her.

“Nay,” she shot back, moving her grip to his hair. “I would have you apologize with a kiss,” she decided, a glint in her green eyes.

His heart skipped a beat then leaped to a gallop.

“That would be unwise,” he countered, using that portion of his brain that would soon become mute if she did not release him. Already, the other half of his brain argued that a kiss was exactly what she needed, and he as well—and not only a kiss but a complete and thorough swiving.

“Unwise?” she scoffed.

She leaned abruptly forward, her lips hovering so close to his he could feel their petal soft caress.

“What has wisdom to do with these matters? ’Tis what I want,” she insisted. “Men take what they want without asking. For once, I should like to do the same.”

The promise of her mouth, the daring threat of her words intoxicated him. Luke found that he was helpless to deny her, stuck like a winged insect in a web of her weaving—though he said nothing to provoke her, neither did he seek to dissuade her, and when her lips crushed his, he could not restrain his groan of pleasure.

She kissed him with a wantonness that sucked the air from his lungs. He strained upward, desperate to feel her breasts against his chest, delighted to give her what she clearly wanted.

 

 

Merry’s heart pounded. She was mad to make demands of a man twice her size and far stronger. Yet she felt strangely invincible, keenly aware of her feminine power, a power that had grown steadily since her first encounter with Luke.

Driving her tongue between his lips, she heard him groan as she stroked him the way that he had taught her. He could not disguise his need for her. She felt it in the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart, the rising of his breath, and as she stretched out over him, she felt his manhood, a long taut weapon of desire pressed against her thigh.

In heady triumph, she teased and receded with her tongue, and she was rewarded this time with his stifled moan. His hands came up, capturing her aching breasts in his large palms.

She felt no hesitation at having his hands on her—she craved his touch. However, when his thumbs circled the tender peaks of her nipples, eliciting sparks of pleasure between her legs, she drew back with a gasp, placing her hands over his to halt his movements.

Luke smiled up at her, his eyes glinting with enjoyment. “Two can play this game, lady,” he warned. Overcoming her resistance, he drew his thumbs intentionally over her nipples once again, sending arrows of arousal straight to her loins. “Shall I stop?” he inquired.

Nay, she didn’t want him to stop. Sensations pure and sweet assaulted her. Recklessness goaded her anew as she recalled how little time she had left with him. Grabbing the hem of her chemise, she started to draw it off.

Luke made a halfhearted attempt to stop her. “We need not do this,” he rasped in a voice that implied the opposite was true.

Shaking him off, she wrestled the material up and over her head, stripping herself so that the candle’s glow was the only thing left covering her.

Luke’s stunned, appreciative expression kept her from flinching with sudden embarrassment. She had gone about as far as she dared. What came next had always been the stuff of her nightmares, though she had confidence in Luke that it wouldn’t end badly that night.

Still, with no idea how to proceed, she froze.

“Merry!” Luke’s exclamation of wonder helped to thaw her again. With a trembling hand, he traced the line of her collarbone, sweeping aside the plaits that hid her rosy nipples from view. “God’s blood, you are even more beautiful than I’d imagined.”

His praise brought a hot flush to her already heated skin and a secret joy to her embattled heart. He rose up on his knees and settled before her. Would he claim her even then? It was her fervent wish that he do so, in her heart of hearts, while there was still the promise of a few hours between them.

Leaning forward, Luke drew her up and pulled her against him, her soft naked body pressed to his hard clothed one. She thought she might dissolve in far more welcome flames than those she experienced at the stake. With utmost gentleness, he placed a kiss on her parted lips.

She sighed with relief, for it seemed that her wish would come true. His lips slid softly to her jaw. He trailed kisses down her neck, causing gooseflesh to sprout everywhere, even on her thighs. Her head felt both light and heavy as she tilted it to give him freer reign.

His lips moved down inexorably toward her breasts. He lifted one to his mouth, and Merry gasped, her fingers flexing against his shoulders. His warm tongue lapped at the aching peak until she thought she would swoon.

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered, sounding like a famished man who had at last been given a delicious morsel. He transferred his mouth to her other nipple, tugging gently at it.

Suddenly, his arms closed around her, and he swept her toward the pillows, pressing her onto her back.

Merry’s hands flew instinctively to his chest to ward him off.

“Wait!” she cried, fearful of the moment when he would impale her.

“Shhh,” he silenced her protests with a gentle kiss, deepening it bit by bit. “I will not hurt you, lady,” he vowed quietly, his mouth against hers.

She relaxed. The fingers she had brought up to his chest tugged at his nightshirt seeking to feel his skin beneath.

He obliged her, leaning away only long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside. Then he hesitated, gazing down at her.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked her, his voice honey thick.

In the amber light of the chamber, his face seemed to be cast in bronze. His eyes had darkened to a deep soft brown. The stain of color on either cheekbone betrayed his excitement, his eagerness to have her. And his body—it was as if a god had sprung to life from a copper statue.

“Aye,” she whispered, intrigued by his arousal, and longing to see all of him unclothed. “I’m certain.” She would never trust another the way she trusted Luke. He had to be the one to initiate her, the one to bury her fears forever. Her first, her last, her only.

He regarded her for a solemn moment. “I regret to say I can give you no more than myself this night,” he warned.

It seemed more than she would ever need. More than she’d hoped for. Yet she experienced a clutch of regret at his words.

“I understand,” she said, and she did. She was a woman with a price on her head for her crimes, while he was the Phoenix, the trusted servant of the king. It was enough to know him, to experience a connection with him unlike anything she’d ever known before, or likely would know hence.

Before her curious eyes, Luke rose up and pushed the material of his drawers down his hips, divesting them in a single movement that left him as naked as she. Merry’s eyes flew wide. She had scarcely gotten accustomed to the sight of his naked chest, let alone his entire, splendid body. As he tossed aside the last of his clothing, she riveted her gaze upon his chin.

“You may look at me, sprite,” he invited with a hint of humor that broke the carnal tension between them.

Her eyes flicked upward, wondering at the endearment that had tripped from his tongue so easily. Sprite, he’d called her. Better than witch, she surmised.

Her gaze sank inevitably, almost involuntarily, to the dark hair at his loins . . . and lower. She’d seen a man’s privates before, but none so magnificent that it roused her admiration. Luke’s manhood jutted proudly from his body, sleek and copper-toned like the rest of him.

The sight of it did not strike fear into her heart, only appreciation—until she imagined him trying to push it inside of her. She raised doubtful eyes at him.

“It won’t fit,” she informed him, solemnly.

His mouth twitched as if he knew an urge to smile.

“Aye, it will,” he said, “and nicely.” Luke seized her hand and brought it toward him. “Touch me,” he invited.

She was surprised to discover his weapon both as smooth as a baby’s skin and hard as a pike. As she stroked her fingers lightly over the tip and down its daunting length, it leaped at her caress. Luke’s indrawn breath brought a forceful reminder of the power she wielded over him. With a reckless urge, she closed her fingers over him firmly, stroking his length.

Luke gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, submitting to her will for only a moment . . . then a moment more.

“Enough,” he said finally, drawing her hand away. “Lie back,” he instructed. “Let me make you ready.”

She wondered how she could ever be ready for an intrusion of such proportion. Tense and uncertain, she lay back as he’d instructed. He leaned over her, resting only parts of his muscular body on hers, and once more lowered his mouth to her own. Kissing her with a skill that eased her fears, she felt the pleasure gathering at her womanly center between her legs. She felt liquid warmth there, as if her body were indeed readying itself for his robust invasion. She found herself trying to part her legs for him though he had them gently pinned.

His mouth broke free, and to her joy, he used it to traverse the length of her body, from her neck to her to breasts, where he paused to suckle, before trailing open-mouthed kisses down the planes and soft curves of her abdomen.

Recalling the dream she’d had, Merry smiled with awe-filled delight. Luke’s hot wet mouth seemed to melt the bones in her body. She felt herself relaxing, trusting him completely, and anticipating what was to come with wanton eagerness.

When his mouth settled on the inside of her thigh, she sighed, not at all alarmed to feel him there.

“Open for me,” he rasped, nudging her legs apart.

She spread her legs. She had touched herself there before. She knew what sort of pleasure she could awaken, and yet she’d never associated that pleasure with a man, never imagined a man doing that for her.

The thought excited her beyond bearing. Her chest rose and fell with readiness.

To her delight, Luke’s mouth was even more effective than her own fumbling fingers. His lips nuzzled her curly woman’s hair, and she gasped. His tongue, firm and sure, licked down the lip of one side of her feminine core then up the other. She had no idea those soft petals were so sensitive.

When he next targeted the center of her pleasure and flicked it, she released a small keening sound and fisted the sheets in ecstasy. He worked gently, teasing and sweeping his tongue around the stiffened bud then over it, before increasing both speed and pressure.

His finger slipped into her opening, and she tensed, but there was no pain. Working his finger back and forth, he ignited a friction that caused her to lurch toward his touch, wanting more. Indeed, she may have cried out for more, or merely begged him in her mind. In any case, he inserted another finger and pushed them deeper.

All at once, he hesitated.

She was disappointed to feel him withdraw. The sensations that he’d incited were nearing some critical point. In truth, it pained her when he stopped. With regret, she eyed him as he rose over her.

“Merry,” he said, settling his hips comfortably between her thighs. He captured her face in his hands, his grave expression giving her pause.

“What is wrong?” she asked. For an awful second, she imagined there was something not to his liking, but he gave her a grin of encouragement.

“Your maidenhead is firmly lodged. Ferguson never touched you.”

She blinked at him, and when the significance of his words registered, tears of relief stabbed at her eyelids. The doubt from her past fell away, never to hurt her again. She was unsullied.

Luke’s face grew placid, controlled, resigned.

“We can stop this now,” he offered, surprising her. “You’re chaste. You can stay that way. You should.” He frowned down at her, clearly warring internally between his desire and what was right. “I should leave you and let you save your innocence as a gift for your future husband.”

The depth of Luke’s goodness shook her in that moment. Gazing up at his dark visage, she knew there would never be another man for her. Luke was the only one capable of looking past her oddities and seeing a woman worthy of respect.

“Nay,” she answered him, pulling his head down for a feverish kiss. “I want this. I want you.”

His closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, a fire burning in their golden depths.

She felt him tremble and realized exactly how much control he’d exerted in restraining himself.

Still, he didn’t breach her. Rather, he continued to regard her closely. “There will be a little pain,” he added, “since you are a virgin.”

Her impatient anticipation faded somewhat, replaced by worry.

“Oh,” she said less enthusiastically.

“Brief,” he assured her. “I’ve readied you, haven’t I?”

She nodded. He had! Her body was fairly thrumming with need, softened and wet at her core.

With a low guttural sound, he took command of the next kiss, devouring her mouth with a hunger that left her shaken but not afraid. She felt the head of his manhood nudge her slick opening. The intrusion was thick and stretching but, so far, painless. He deepened his claim, entering her by the slightest of increments.

Merry’s chest expanded at the heady feel of him taking her body, filling her. ’Twas not such an awful thing to submit to another’s will.

With coaxing hands, he encouraged her to lift her legs on either side of him, and she responded willingly. He lowered his mouth and kissed her—at the same time, driving his shaft forward.

Pain, sharp and quick, seared Merry, and she yelped into his mouth. Yet just as quickly, the stinging subsided. He lifted his lips, and she gasped for breath, drawing her fingernails away from his tortured shoulders.

She longed for him to surge into her, knew this would intensify their pleasure. She wriggled beneath him hopefully. However, he was holding perfectly still.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“Nay,” she said. “I am . . . I know not how I am. Are you finished?”

She knew it to be a foolish question, for he was still inside her, stretching her past repletion.

He seemed to have trouble focusing on her question. He closed his eyes, a sheen appearing on his forehead.

“Nay,” he rasped. “Don’t move.”

She understood then that, if she moved, he would lose control and strew his seed inside of her, taking his pleasure while giving to her her own. Why, she wondered, would he not want to seek that fulfillment? Perhaps he was too selfless. Perhaps he had no intention of spilling his seed in her at all; after all, he was betrothed to another.

She hesitated but a split second before making her decision. She would have no regrets if this union begot a baby for her to love and cherish. As for Luke, she knew a prideful wish—she wanted him to experience ecstasy in her arms, perhaps to think of her even when he lay with his future wife.

Rather than keep still as he’d cautioned her, she moved her hips in an undulating motion that was entirely instinctive. To her surprise, the movement ignited a lovely, gripping pleasure deep inside of her.

“Mm!” she breathed, moving again.

Through the roaring of blood in her ears, she heard Luke curse. However, rather than protest her movements, he joined her, thrusting himself more deeply before withdrawing, then thrusting again. His hips, driving forward and dragging back along her womanly passage, increased her overwhelming delight, building to a crescendo that made her hold her breath.

As the moment of climax came upon her, she scarcely could credit its power. Her release was more shattering than anything she’d experienced alone. Clutching his shoulders in helplessness, her legs splayed to him, her ecstasy crashed over her and dragged him along with it.

Luke’s hoarse cry blended with hers. He buried his face against her jaw, thrust once, twice, thrice more, and then collapsed, his weight suddenly much heavier, though she didn’t mind at all.

As their ragged breathing subsided, a moment of bliss settled over her, soft as a blanket. Merry closed her eyes, marveling at the beauty of the physical connection between a man and a woman. God’s truth, she’d had no idea it could be so earthy, so life-confirming, so pleasurable! So completely opposite her fear of being forced.

Her heart still hammered in the aftermath. Though she felt a mite weary, she couldn’t wait to experience such delight again and wondered if that were possible the very same night.

 

Luke stirred. He lifted his head and gazed down at her, his unfocused eyes slowly clearing. The look he gave her sent a bolt of longing through her heart. No one had ever looked at her with such tenderness and awe.

Then, with a blink, those emotions fled, replaced by something sharper, something that looked like regret. He muttered a curse in that foreign tongue of his and with a hiss, pulled out of her abruptly.

“Jesu!” he added, mystifying Merry as he scrambled out of bed and circled her room like a caged animal. “Where can I find a cloth?”

She came up on her elbows, fascinated by the sight of him completely naked and pacing her chamber. “Look by the washbasin,” she said.

Pouring water from the pitcher into the wooden bowl, he snatched up the towel lying close beside it. With hurried movements, he dipped it in the water, wrung it out, and brought it swiftly to her, his expression grim.

Merry drew away from him, confused and frightened by the scowl on his face.

“Wipe yourself,” he growled, thrusting the towel at her.

She took the towel with sudden chagrin.

“Go on,” he prompted.

Nay, she wasn’t going to wipe herself in front of him!

He snatched the cloth out of her grasp and pressed it between her thighs. Merry gasped at the cold contact and squeezed her legs together with shame.

“Listen to me,” Luke’s urgent voice broke over her confusion. “I spent my seed inside you. ’Tis something I swore never to do—to beget a child on any woman other than my wife. We must remove as much as we can.”

As she sat in stunned silence, he drew the cloth away to return to the washbasin and rinse it, but not before Merry caught a glimpse of her own blood staining it. She tested the tender spot with her fingers, finding herself still wet with his seed and a hint of her own maiden’s blood.

Luke returned, but she’d already grabbed the edge of the counterpane and dragged it across her lower parts. Taking the cloth from him this time, she slid it under the sheet, pressing it to her, all the while watching him as he seemed to grow further distressed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he regarded her with a somber frown on his face, his thoughts obviously weighing heavily. “If you find yourself with child, you have only to send a note to me at Arundel—it’s in west Sussex.”

“I know where it is,” she snapped. She’d asked Philippe about Luke’s family home. Now, it seemed a faraway, mythical place, one she knew she’d never see. Besides what would happen after he received such a missive?

He nodded. “The babe’s welfare would be of utmost importance to me.”

His words failed to reassure her. If anything, they set a crushing weight upon her as they reminded her of her empty future. Once delivered to Helmsley, she was not Luke’s problem anymore. The burden of her welfare would fall to her brother-in-law. Luke would see to their babe if need be, but as for her . . .

The babe! The thought of one rallied her spirits. What if Luke had gotten her with child? Then she would have a part of him to keep as her own, forever. That hope lit the bleak corridors of the days to come.

“Worry not over a babe,” she told him, holding his gaze. “I have only to consume a tincture of henbane,” she commented, wanting to ease his worries, “and your seed will wither ere a babe is formed.”

He frowned at her solution. “Henbane is poison, is it not? I forbid it, Merry. You’ll do no such thing.” He held out his hand, and she eased the towel out from under the sheets and handed it to him. Apparently content that it had drawn away most of his seed, he tossed it across the room.

To Merry’s surprise, he eased onto the bed, drawing her once more against him. Her senses leaped back to life at the abrasion of his flesh against hers. Beneath the crisp sprinkling of his body hair, his skin was warm and smooth, dense with muscle.

Propped upon one elbow, he gazed down at her, his expression inscrutable in the amber light. With his free hand, he traced a line from her shoulder, between her breasts, to her hips. Her sensitive skin reacted with a shiver.

“Did I hurt you?” he inquired softly.

Lulled by his tenderness, she longed to ease the frown from between his dark eyebrows.

“Nay,” she reassured him, smiling. “You were very gentle. ’Twas the most . . . remarkable experience,” she added, unable to help her dreamy smile.

Against her hip, she felt his manhood stir.

He caressed her again, this time sketching invisible circles about her breasts. They responded at once to the attention, peaking and flushing like tiny rosebuds. Merry’s eyes slid nearly closed and contentment hummed in her throat. Her heart began to beat with the anticipation of swiving with him once more.

Luke’s manhood swelled more fully as he pressed himself against her hip. He brought his lips to Merry’s temple, then kissed the line of her jaw.

She didn’t hesitate this time, turning to face him and pressing her breasts against his chest. Drawing his mouth to hers, she kissed him hungrily, eager to explore her newfound source of pleasure.

“Teach me everything you know,” she begged him, throwing a leg over his hips and drawing him close.

“Naughty sprite,” Luke teased. Threading his hands through hers, he drew them up and over her head to hold her captive. Assaulting her breasts with his lips and tongue, he drew whimpers of pleasure from her throat.

“Sweet lady,” he muttered between licks and nips. “You make me forget.”

“Forget what?” she panted in dizzy delight. She had never been happier in her life.

He rolled suddenly on top of her, adjusting himself as she spread her legs in fervent anticipation. At the portal of her entrance, he hesitated, like one balancing on the edge of a precipice.

“Who I am,” he finished, his eyes glazing as he eased slowly but relentlessly inside her.

They gasped with mutual astonishment as urgency stormed their senses. Merry arched her hips, and he surged into her, responding with every muscle to the demands of her enthusiastic hunger. In no immediate danger of spilling his seed, Luke took Merry’s charge very seriously. In the hours that followed, he taught her everything he knew, as thoroughly as he could.

With each new insight, Merry felt herself flowering into completion. Nothing in her life had ever felt so correct, so perfect, as this merging of bodies . . . and it seemed to her, of spirits. She and Luke strained toward each other, arching, grasping, stroking, teasing, and tasting, yet never close enough.

Hours later, as she lapsed into exhausted slumber, her body tender but sated, she realized with bittersweet nostalgia that the best moments of her life were behind her.