Adrienne Basso (7 page)

She was not feeling scared precisely, but anxious. Very anxious. Not anxious because she was ignorant and unaware of what was going to happen the moment the earl—Gavin—stepped over that threshold.

Quite the opposite. She was anxious because she did know.

With heavy-lidded eyes, Gavin watched Fiona leave the great hall when the meal ended. ’Twas a struggle to hold the yearning he felt for her tightly in check, but he did. Even as his mind was imagining her clothes being slowly stripped away while his lips kissed the sweet, tender skin as it was revealed.

For the last hour he’d been shifting restlessly in his seat, trying to control his raging desire. His stones were hard and aching, his hands nearly itching to explore and caress Fiona’s luscious flesh. Even with his eyes wide open, visions of their bodies joined so tight that naught could separate them haunted him.

It felt as though his loins tightened every time she cast an eye in his direction. Hell, even watching her chew her meal sent a surprising surge of lust through him. Chewing her food!

Christ’s bones, he’d lost his mind.

He had known beautiful women in his lifetime—had even bedded a few. But this attraction he felt for Fiona was different somehow—it held a power over him that chased his good sense to the bottom of the loch.

He remembered her beauty and feisty spirit the first time he had seen her—and a feeling of surprise at having such a strong reaction to an unknown woman. He also remembered feeling a twinge of disloyalty for having lustful thoughts for the wife of his friend and ally.

“She’s a proud one, our English lady,” Duncan commented, as he refilled Gavin’s tankard.

“Aye, and a true beauty,” Aidan agreed. “Yer the envy of every man in the hall tonight.”

Gavin grimaced. He didn’t feel confident. He felt unsure. He’d visited alehouses and whorehouses, where the female companionship was experienced, lustful, and plentiful. He had been married twice and each time submitted to a rowdy bedding ceremony, with the male guests and his retainers accompanying him to the bridal chamber amid bawdy comments.

But he had never bedded a mistress within the walls of his own castle, while his household was gathered below, their ears most likely attuned to every sound. It somehow felt base, sordid.

Yet this twinge of conscience in no way diminished the desire he felt, nor lessened his determination to take Fiona to his bed. Damn if he wasn’t becoming addled over the lass.

Gavin glanced toward the stairs for the tenth time in as many minutes, then quickly looked away, worried one of his men might have noticed. The last thing he needed was Duncan’s jesting or Aidan’s sarcastic quips. He was nervous enough.

Ignoring the pointed stares he was receiving from Duncan, Connor, Aidan, and God only knew who else, Gavin casually lifted his tankard.

“Will we not have some singing tonight?” he asked.

“How can it be that ye’ve got songs on yer mind tonight?” Duncan inquired with a wry expression. “That’s the telltale mark of an old codger, wanting to stay with his men drinking and singing instead of joining the bonnie lass who’s waiting fer him above stairs, warming his bed.”

“An old codger! I’ll have ye know I’m a man in my prime,” Gavin declared, trying not to smile.

“Yer actions tell a different story,” Aidan insisted with a teasing grin.

Gavin gulped down another mouthful of ale and then banged the tankard on the table. “I bested ye on the practice field today,” he said smugly. “All three of ye.”

Duncan grumbled, while Aidan mumbled something under his breath about getting lucky at catching him off guard.

“Well, that only proves yer not too old for
some
things,” Connor said, smiling like a buffoon. He drained his tankard, then started singing. Before long, the rest of the men joined in.

The songs became progressively lecherous as the drink continued to flow, but it provided the distraction that Gavin craved.

It was late when he finally mounted the stairs to his chamber, taking them two at a time. Drawing himself up to his full height, Gavin reached for the door latch, then hesitated. Would Fiona be sitting in his bed, naked and alluring? Or would she be in the small chamber he had assigned her, waiting to be summoned?

He glanced back and forth between the two doors, trying to decide. Going with his gut instinct, he yanked open the heavy wooden door of the smaller chamber.

There was a gasp, followed by an odd little squeak. Fiona stood. Gavin stepped forward. The door closed behind him, leaving him in uncomfortable seclusion with his brand-new mistress.

No candle was lit, only moonlight brightened the room. Still, he could make out the glow of her unbound golden hair, the fine curves of her lush body. He was a man who appreciated beauty in its many forms and Fiona’s was special, rare.

She seemed to expect him to say something. Perhaps give her a command?
Strip off yer nightclothes, lay on yer back, and open yer legs.

If he said it, she would obey. Like a supplicant before her master, she would do his bidding. Hell, he could rip off her thin nightgown, toss her on the bed and have his way with her and she’d never utter a word of protest. But the idea did neither heat his blood or raise his passion, nor did it give him a heady feeling of power and command. Instead it made him feel like a brutal tyrant.

He was a leader of men, having taken the mantle of leadership of his people as a young man of twenty-three. Dominating, commanding, being in control was as much a part of his nature as it was a fulfillment of his duty.

Yet Gavin had learned as a youth that bed sport was far more enjoyable if both partners participated. With patience and skill he had coaxed a passionate response from his virgin brides. Did his mistress not deserve the same consideration?

“Why are ye standing here in the darkness?” he asked. “I expected to find ye in my chamber.”

Her color flared, yet when she spoke, her voice was even. “You gave me no specific instructions. I thought it best to wait here instead of invading your bedchamber.”

She was watching him, but nothing in the depths of her emerald-green eyes gave any hint to what she was truly thinking, what she was feeling. She presented a placid facade, but Gavin would wager every gold coin he possessed that her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird.

“We can stay here, if ye like,” he offered.

She nodded. Gavin moved closer, deeply conscious of the small space. He inhaled her spicy lavender scent, and a heady warmth encircled him, far more powerful than all the ale he had drunk earlier tonight. The tangle in his gut drew into tight knots. He felt hot. Needy. Primed.

How was he possibly going to keep his lust at bay and not frighten her witless?

He tried a smile. She squinted up at him.

He had fantasied about what was hidden beneath the confines of Fiona’s simple gown from the moment she had knelt before him in the great hall. Now, at last, was the time to indulge that curiosity.

Gavin stepped between her legs, bringing the full length of Fiona’s body flush against his, with only a thin layer of their garments separating them. Groaning, he cupped her lush buttocks, pressing her softness against his stiffening manhood.

She seemed confused, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it. He pulled her closer and she stiffened in his embrace, letting him know she had no true desire for him. The gesture disturbed him. He didn’t know why. Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe that the object of his intense passion was indifferent to him.

Well, there really was only one way to uncover the truth.

“Ye’re trembling. Tell me true, are ye afraid of me, Fiona?”

She turned her head away and his heart sank.

“I don’t fear you, my lord. I’m nervous. And worried that I will not please you.”

She was lying. Her gaze wouldn’t meet his and she worried her bottom lip back and forth between her teeth so rapidly it turned bright red. Dammit! The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.

“Where’s the bold lass who offered herself to me so brazenly this afternoon?”

She lifted her chin, a blushing spot of color burning on each cheek. “I am here, my lord. As we agreed.”

“Gavin. Call me Gavin.” He sighed, then touched a finger to her mouth. “We’ll go slowly. Though I cannae promise fer how long.”

Wrapping one arm around her back, he tipped her off balance. Her eyes widened as she gazed up into his face. Gavin leaned down and kissed her. He tasted her shock and wondered if she had underestimated her own sexual allure. He molded his mouth to her soft, yielding lips and pressed harder.

She let out a quiet moan, then opened her lips to let him inside, the erotic sensation of her tongue dueling with his igniting a flame deep within him. She tasted faintly of wine—and mint—a lustful, heady combination.

He kissed her again, unprepared for the torment that spread rapidly through him.
More. I want more.

He nibbled at the tender spot behind her ear, savoring the sweetness. Everything about her tasted delicious.

Returning to her plump, ruby lips, Gavin ravished her mouth as his hunger grew. For an instant the world seemed to spin away. The taste of her mouth was more intoxicating than the finest French wine. Moving down, he lowered her nightclothes and pressed his mouth to the valley between her breasts, nuzzling that tender spot.

It was torture, but Gavin waited until he felt her body relax and slacken before taking one of the nipples fully into his mouth and twirling it around his tongue.

Fiona moaned, louder this time, and plunged her fingers into his hair. Encouraged, Gavin peeled away the rest of her nightclothes and eased her back on the small, narrow bed. ’Twas impossible to believe the fire coursing through his veins could have flared any hotter, yet when Gavin positioned himself over her and looked down, his control nearly snapped.

She gazed back up at him with hooded eyes, darkened with passion and curiosity. His eyes had adjusted well to the moonlit chamber and he could see the outline of her ample breasts, small waist, and slim hips. He took a moment to study her exquisite form, the sight hardening his already pulsing erection.

“Shall we go a wee bit faster now?” he whispered.

Her hands fisted in his hair, giving him the answer he desired. Gavin dragged in a shaky breath and slipped his hand between her long, shapely legs, gliding down her inner thighs and back up. Her eyes blazed like glowing emeralds, her face flushed a delicate shade of pink, deepening her beauty. Gavin’s erotic imagination took flight, making him wonder what she’d look like after spending a carnal night in his bed.

“Ye’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

Fiona snorted. “There’s no need for false flattery. We made a bargain, you and I. I shall freely give you what you seek.”

He pulled back. “Ye doubt my words, lass?”

“I . . .” She lowered her chin, averting her eyes. “I am unused to hearing such tender expressions. Henry was the only man who ever called me beautiful.”

“Does it pain ye, remembering him?”

“At times. But my memories are mainly joyful and for that I am grateful. And lucky.” She tilted her head. “Do you think often of your wife?”

“Wives,” he corrected, shrugging sheepishly at her widened eyes. Christ, he sounded like an old lecher, having survived two young wives. “They were both fine lasses. Alas, my marriages were too brief to have many memories at all, joyful or otherwise.”

She wrinkled her brow, her expression wry. “How calmly we speak of our past lovers. Is that not cold?”

“Life goes on,” he said simply, brushing a long strand of her golden hair away from her eyes.

“As best it can,” she said in a sad voice.

Deciding that melancholy had no place in their bed, Gavin brushed his thumb beneath Fiona’s chin, tilting her head so he could reach her mouth and kiss her. She murmured something as their lips met and he pressed deeper.

Tentatively she reached out, extending her fingers to touch his chest. Slowly she worked her way across the wide expanse, rubbing in a circular motion with her palm. Gavin felt each tender stroke as it left a burning trail across his covered flesh.

Greedily, he moved his head lower, tonguing her navel, licking the curve of her hip. He playfully rubbed the stubble on his chin against her tender skin. Fiona jumped. Her fingers curled and she restlessly shifted her legs. Gavin smiled in satisfaction. There was fire inside his little English rose—all he need do was set the flint to the dry timber and let the flames engulf them both.

Removing his tunic, he let it fall to the floor, then hastily pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

“Touch me again,” he whispered.

Fiona’s hands rose up until they rested on Gavin’s bare shoulders. Lifting one arm higher, her fingertips lightly raced across his nose and mouth, down his chin and along his throat.

The tender gesture of intimacy made Gavin forget she was doing her job as his mistress. He groaned encouragingly, pressing her legs open with his knee, the blood pounding so loudly in his ears, he swore he could hear it.

The loud, almost frantic knock on the chamber door had them both stiffening.

“Milord!”

“Go away,” Gavin snarled.

There was only a brief pause before the pounding started again. This time louder and longer.

“Are ye deaf, man?” Gavin shouted. “Leave me be!”

“I cannae,” came the quivering voice from the other side of the door. “Duncan says ’tis urgent.”

“If this is a prank, then ye best be preparing to meet yer maker,” Gavin shouted. He stomped to the door and yanked it open. “What?”

The squire leapt back, almost as if fearing he’d be struck. “They sent me to fetch ye. ’Tis Gilroy. He’s raided the grain at Kilmore.”