Bedding the Enemy (16 page)

His chest rumbled with a growl and it made her bolder. Straining up against the weight of his body, she kissed his chin. The need to kiss him drove her. She didn't want to lie back and receive, she wanted to press her lips against his and initiate the pleasure.

Keir waited for her, remaining still while she angled her face so that their lips could meet. He didn't take command of the kiss. His lips only followed hers. Clasping her hands around the top of his shoulders, she strained upward to keep her lips connected with his.

He suddenly rolled, taking her along with him. The bed was wide enough to allow him to settle all the way onto his back with her on top of him. Her thighs remained spread, her own weight pressing her down on top of him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, spreading the long strands out before gripping it around his fist. Tiny pricks of pain traveled along her scalp but it mixed with the need flowing through her blood, heightening everything again.

“Kiss me, Helena.”

It was an order, but deep in his eyes she saw the plea. He was a proud man but not an arrogant one.

“Kiss me because ye want to, lass.”

She touched one fingertip to his lips instead. He shuddered, the motion moving along his body and up into hers. His hands left her waist to cup the sides of her bottom. Male satisfaction burned brightly in his eyes.

No one had ever touched her bottom.

Not that she could recall.

Keir tightened his grip before rubbing slowly over each rounded cheek. He watched her while he did it. His gaze lacked the possessive look she would have expected. Instead there was an inquisitive look, a questioning slant to his eyes that sent color burning along her cheeks.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss against the finger on his lips. A look of experience settled into his eyes that chafed. There appeared to be so much that she didn't understand about her own body. She felt that lack keenly.

Leaning forward, she kissed him. It was nothing soft or hesitant. Holding his head with her hands, she angled her face so that their lips could fit together easily. Keir was finished being docile, too. He took her kiss and met her in the middle, demanding she open her mouth for their tongues to mingle. She shivered, that spot at the top of her sex throbbing harder. His tongue thrust deeply into her mouth and her passage ached for the same treatment, but from something harder.

Keir rolled her over again. This time he settled lower, his hips below her spread sex. She was acutely aware of her passage, in a way she'd never been before. But there was no humiliation. No raging concern for her modesty. Only a need to be closer to her lover.

He smoothed his hand along her inner thigh, spreading her thighs so that his fingers might trail into the moist center of her body.

She cried out, not able to form words any longer. There was too much sensation, too much pleasure. Her heart was racing and her breathing was harsh, trying to keep pace. The first touch made her arch, her entire back straining away from the bed. But his body wouldn't allow her to escape. She clawed at his shoulders, gripping the hard muscle.

But his fingers returned to her open folds, tormenting them with light touches that sent pleasure spiking up her passage. She ached for more. Her eyes slid closed because she just couldn't keep her thoughts on anything but the teasing touches of his fingers. The sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears. His skin felt hot beneath her palms.

He found the spot at the top of her sex that was throbbing. Her eyes opened wide as he settled one thick fingertip on top of it. His face was a mask of tension. She stared at it, both fascinated and apprehensive of the raw hunger displayed there.

“Aye, lass, you're testing me mightily. But I swear I'll no' hurt ye by rushing.”

“I'm a maiden. It will hurt. I'm not afraid.” No, she was achy and hot. Her hips lifted toward his hand and she gasped when the increase in pressure against his finger sent pleasure through her so sharply that she felt dizzy.

“Aye. But ye will learn to trust me because I didna claim ye the second the church gave me the right.” His finger moved, rubbing her clitoris in a motion that nearly drove her insane. “First I'm going to show ye what delights marriage offers.”

“I don't understand.”

And her eyes closed because pleasure was twisting and tightening beneath that finger. Her hips jerked upward, grinding against his touch. The need intensified until it was the only thing that she noticed, that pulsing need to lift and grind against his hand. She pulled on his shoulders, desperate to get closer. Suddenly the tension broke in a burst of pleasure so acute, she cried out with it. The delight twisted down her passage and into her belly. She was held frozen in that moment. Time stopped as the pleasure consumed her.

“Now ye understand.” A soft kiss pressed against her lips. It was so tender, she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. His hand was back on her breast, gripping the soft mound and gently pinching the nipple.

But his cock was pressing against her opening, the hard head of it burrowing into the spread folds. She was slick with her own juices, making it easy for him to push forward. Her sheath was tight, the walls protesting his invasion. But her muscles were lax, allowing him to press deeper. Her passage ached and then burned. Her fingers renewed their grip on his shoulders, her back arching away from his possession.

He held her still. She sucked in a deep breath when he withdrew but it hissed through her clenched teeth when he thrust smoothly back into her. This time he gained more depth, her passage screaming against the hard flesh invading it. For a moment the pain ruled her. It was white-hot and blinding. She struggled to escape.

“Shhh…”

It was only a sound, combined with soft kisses against her temple. The pain vanished as quickly as it had come. She gasped for breath, trying to relax with his length lodged deep inside her.

Tears eased down her face. She lifted her eyelashes to see her husband's concerned look. It was a deep emotion that burned in his eyes. But she gasped when she realized that her fingernails had cut into his skin. Blood colored her nails and she jerked them away in horror.

“I'm sorry.”

“I'm not.” His voice was raspy now. All hints of control vanished. “Claw me.”

His hips flexed and he drew his cock out of her body.

“Share it with me, Helena.”

His eyes glowed and he thrust deeply into her spread body. Her passage took him with only a dull ache. She did as he commanded and dug her nails back into his arms. There was too much sensation to contain inside her. She couldn't remain still, her hips lifting once again to press up tighter against him.

His nostrils flared. It was a tiny movement but her gaze seemed fixated on it. She clawed at him and he snarled softly.

“Dinnae ever submit to me, Helena.”

She answered him by meeting his next thrust. Hard and thick, his cock filled her, feeding that need that had gnawed at her since she met him. It wasn't romantic but it was true. She wanted him just like this, deep inside her. Her breath was rough and so was his. His hips flexed and bucked between her thighs. She clasped him to her, trying to hold onto him and keep him deep inside her. There was no reason to keep her eyes open. She wanted to immerse herself in the sensation, the fullness of his flesh filling her, the smooth sliding of their skin as he moved on top of her.

Pleasure tightened her once again. This time it was centered deeper, all the way inside her passage. She was straining up off the bed, striving to help drive his length toward that knot of throbbing sensation. A moan pasted her lips, followed by a second one. The pleasure peeked before it broke again, spearing through her flesh with sensation that was mind-numbing. She twisted in it as if a flame had been put to the bedding. Above her, Keir snarled and ground his cock into her. A series of hot spurts filled her, satisfying the last of her hunger. She didn't know why, only that satisfaction washed over her, leaving every muscle limp. Pleasure lingered as Keir hunched over her, his elbows keeping his chest from crushing her. His chest labored with hard breaths that rasped through his teeth.

He lifted his head, showing her an expression that touched her heart. It was so full of admiration and tender concern that tears eased from her eyes.

“Yer tears bring me to my knees, lass. Dinnae cry. It won't hurt so much again.”

He rolled over, leaving her, and she shivered, feeling his withdrawal keenly.

“I understand….” But she didn't understand why she felt deserted.

Keir didn't give her time to investigate her odd feelings. He rolled right out of the bed. The firelight bathed him in scarlet now that the flames had died down. He picked up his kilt while she tried to smother her tears.

Of course he was finished with her….

But he returned to the bed, on the side that his sword was leaning against the wall. He lay back down and slipped an arm under her waist. Pulling her close, he nuzzled against her, kissed the tracks her tears had left on her cheeks.

“I always sleep nearest the door, Helena.”

He pressed her cheek down onto his chest. The sound of his heart filled her ear. She sighed, grateful for the excuse to be silent. She noticed how lonely her bed had been. The scent of his skin brought a contentment that pulled her into a slumber that was deep and unburdened by any worries. There was only the embrace of the man holding her.

Nothing else mattered.

 

Keir didn't sleep immediately. He was too fascinated by the woman in his arms—the soft brush of her breath against his skin, the steady throbbing of her heart—all of the tiny details of life that he had never noticed in a bed partner before. Remaining awake to enjoy it was not a chore. Stroking her smooth shoulder, he closed his eyes. During the night he followed her across the bed. She wiggled out of his embrace and he pulled her back against his body. At dawn he was still tired but a contentment had settled over him that he'd only felt when his mother had been alive.

He did not know what it was, only that he'd kill any man who tried to take Helena from him.

She was his.

H
elena awoke tired.

She looked at the canopy above her in confusion, the brocade fabric a stark contrast to the attic ceiling. She sat up and the covers fell to her waist. The morning chill hit her chest and her nipples instantly drew tight. She looked down, stunned by the sight of her own coral-tipped breasts uncovered in the morning light.

“Och now. That's nae a good idea, Helena.”

The bed rocked and two very male arms reached around her to gather the covers up around her. Her memory returned but she froze when the shutters opened. The young maid pushed the large wooden window covers wide until she latched them to the walls. She dropped a curtsy when she noticed Helena staring at her.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Helena shifted her attention toward the door and found several of his men standing there.

“I suppose I cannae fault ye for nae being accustomed to waking up without a stitch on.”

His own lack of clothing didn't seem to bother him in the least. Keir gathered her up along with the covers and carried her out of the bed. His men stepped closer, peering down at the sheets.

Of course…

It was a tradition so old no one really knew when it began. Dark stains marred the creamy surface of the sheet. Heat burned in her cheeks in spite of the fact that those stains were exactly what she wanted to see this morning. The maid pulled the sheet free, but one of Keir's retainers took it from her.

“I'll take charge of that, lass. It's going home to Red Stone, as it should be flown from the window there.”

Home to Red Stone….

She hadn't thought of that, either. A shiver left gooseflesh on her arms. Very soon she would be completely at Keir's mercy. He was the laird on his land; no one would challenge his word.

Just like Edmund…

She hated her mind's impulsive linking of Keir with Edmund, but couldn't prevent her thoughts from doing so. There were many similarities.

“The king expects us to hunt with him today.”

Keir's men grinned. Several of them looked relieved as well. They tugged on their bonnets before quitting the room. Once they were gone she pushed on Keir's chest, gaining his full attention. Something flickered in his dark eyes that told her he didn't care for her desire to be released.

He put her down anyway.

“You shouldna be angry over the sheet being inspected.”

“I'm not.”

She spoke too quickly but didn't wait for Keir to take issue with her. She walking toward the fireplace, where she found her chemise and pulled it over her head.

“Are ye upset over nae having any of yer family members present? I dinnae think yer brother would attend even if I told me men to let him in. Which I'll honestly tell ye I dinnae.”

“You've instructed your men to refuse my brother entrance?”

“Aye.”

And his tone made it plain that he wasn't sorry about that at all. She couldn't blame him for that, but it left her feeling very alone as well as vulnerable. The sheet was stained, proving her a virgin and that Keir had consummated their union, but the only witnesses were men who owed their loyalty to him. He had never given her cause to distrust him, but that didn't stop her from feeling lonely.

“Does that truly displease ye? I planted my fist in his face the last time we met.” Keir was already dressed. His kilt pleated and belted around his waist once again. He was an imposing sight, the lack of court finery somehow enhancing his strength.

He approached her and her belly tightened. It was an instant response and one that she could not control even after getting what she'd desired.

“Maybe he'll learn to be more forgiving with his own hands now that he's tasted what it's like to have someone stronger hit him.”

Keir touched her cheek, tenderly stroking the healing bruise Edmund had left on her.

“I doubt it. Edmund is a law unto himself. Now that my father is ill, I believe that his arrogance will only increase. There is no one to dictate to him.”

“Save the king.”

Helena moved away from him. Her dress was lying over a table but the stays only laced up the back, leaving her helpless to dress alone.

“The king enjoys harmony amidst his nobles.”

“Aye, well, ye willnae have to answer to him.”

No, she would be in Scotland….

It wasn't that she disliked the country; part of her was curious. But she couldn't shake the loneliness from her heart. Every effort had been focused on installing her at court. Now that she was leaving it, she was at a loss as to how to move forward.

The door opened and the maid reentered. Two of Keir's retainers carried a trunk into the chamber. Helena recognized it instantly. She smiled just because it was something familiar.

“Edmund gave you my things?”

She reached out and ran a hand over the wooden lid. One of the men tugged on his cap before offering her a mocking grin.

“His housekeeper did. Dinnae know what yer brother thinks o' it. We didna ask.”

A soft sound drew her attention to Keir. He sent his men from the room with a jerk of his head. They nodded to her before leaving, and the maid went along with them, leaving her alone with her husband.

“I hope it pleases ye to have yer things, but I'll be happy to buy ye whatever else ye deem necessary.” Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. She stared at it, wanting to see someone she might not call a stranger. The trunk was an offering, and one that she needed to meet with her own attempt at forging some sort of friendly relationship.

Tilting her head to the side, she sighed. “Well, I was eying some of those very large hair rolls. Many of the ladies at court wear them.”

He scowled at her. But mischief lit his dark eyes. “Upon further consideration, I believe I like ye as ye are. In naught but that chemise.”

“You want me to wear my chemise hunting with the king?” Helena opened her eyes wide. “I suppose I am expected to obey you as my husband, but…”

His expression darkened. He hadn't removed his whiskers yet and his chin was coated in a dark shadow, making him appear harder. He curled his fingers into the loose fabric of her chemise and tugged her forward. She tumbled into his body, her hands landing on his chest. Excitement surged through her as her senses filled with the scent of his warm skin. Everything about him was strong and male. It made her aware of the fact that she was female and fashioned to take him within her. It was a carnal thought, but one that sent heat racing through her veins.

“I'll be interested in seeing just how much obeying ye are willing to do when we are alone.”

“I thought you enjoyed my boldness. Not submission.” She moved her hands over his chest, teasing the ridges of his muscles and forcing her body to press up against his. She quivered, her bottom wanting to curl away from him, but she ordered her body to remain in place.

He threaded his hands through her unbound hair. “'Tis a fact that ye are learning very quickly who I am.” He placed his lips on top of hers. The kiss was hard and full of need. He pressed her lips apart, holding her head between his hands.

She kissed him back, eagerly allowing his tongue to tease her into a deeper kiss. But his whiskers scraped across her skin, drawing a quiver from her.

“I'm going to have to start shaving before dawn.”

Confusion swept through her, and he chuckled before releasing her.

“Do ye think that the only time a couple may lie in bed is at night?”

“Well…I suppose…” She didn't care for the amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I simply have not thought all that much about being with a man. I avoided them to maintain my reputation, even if it is grossly unfair to expect purity from a bride but not a groom.”

She was being too daring. Men never took kindly to women who didn't accept their authority. Or pointed out that they expected higher standards from their wives than they held themselves to. More than one bride had felt the weight of her husband's hand for daring to voice such facts. Keir might have treated her kindly but that did not mean the man would be any different from the rest of his sex. He'd won her in a game of cards, after all.

“I'm sorry, that was cross of me.”

“Dinnae do that.”

She bit her lower lip instead of answering. Annoying him was certain to land her in difficult circumstances. For all that they were strangers, the man was her husband and the law favored him in every way. She was his chattel.

“Dinnae hide yer spirit from me, Helena.”

Her eyes narrowed. He drew in a stiff breath.

“I suppose we'd better get to dressing, or the king will be unhappy that we missed his hunt, because I'm going to take ye back to bed in another few minutes of this quarreling. We communicate very well in bed.”

He turned and left in a swirl of wool kilt. Excitement tingled all over her skin, but her temper raised its head.

The man was far too sure of his ability to…to…well, to make her body perform as he willed. It was infuriating.

It was also exciting….

She scoffed at herself. She took a step toward her trunk and shook when her passage gave a slight protest. But lust was gently throbbing in her clitoris again. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the details she hadn't yet committed to memory. Her emotions were tangled. Tears stung her eyes, but she ordered them to remain unshed.

She was a wife now. How many years had she been told about what was expected of her? Keir was not unkind, but he was a man.

And she would have to learn to live with his rule, and someday his mistress.

Two tears eased down her cheeks. It hurt to think of him with other women. It shouldn't. No noble wife received fidelity. But that didn't stop her from wanting it. More tears eased from the corners of her eyes. She wanted her gallant knight; wanted a childhood fantasy so badly that it hurt.

But that was only because she wanted something that a marriage could not provide. Such a thing was shattered by reality. Those who loved lost when they gave into lust. The two did not mix.

She could have loved Keir and she mourned that loss.

 

Rage was strength. Pure, undiluted strength.

Edmund Charles Knyvett, heir to the earldom of Kenton, drew a deep breath and gave himself over to the anger burning inside him. He felt the flames licking along his limbs, burning away everything else. His thoughts were consumed until nothing but white-hot rage filled him. It was perfection. He missed the sheer abundance of emotion when he didn't have enough reason to work himself up into a rage often enough.

Keir McQuade made an excellent target.

That bastard Scot had no doubt spent the night between his sister's thighs. The image of them fucking fueled his rage. The stupid bitch had no doubt raised her hips for his damned common cock. Her womb was now stinking with his less-than noble seed. It was like a disease, eating away at her well-born womb. It disgusted him.

But the rage made every muscle in his body hard. He grabbed a goblet sitting on a table in his chamber and swallowed the wine left in it. A snarl left his lips when he turned it all the way up and the wine was finished.

“Wine!”

He hurled the goblet at the door, his rage making his arm stronger. He smiled as the goblet clattered to the floor. The sound echoed throughout the chamber.

All of his senses were heightened. He felt every little thing more intensely when he allowed the rage to rule him. Self-discipline was overrated. All it did was mask the nature of what he might feel when he was unfettered by the bounds of right and wrong.

“Wine, my lord.” Young Avis froze halfway into a curtsy. Her eyes widened when they saw his cock standing tall. His night-shirt was in shreds because his skin needed to be free when he let himself burn with rage. He laughed at her horror. He could smell the fear on her skin. Her gaze darted to the door but there was no way to avoid serving her master.

“Wine!”

She moved forward on hesitant steps, offering the tray with the fresh goblet up in front of her. She was pathetic, a coward like all females. Their whining sickened him, but his cock twitched, recognizing something of which it might make use.

He grabbed the goblet and reached over the tray to grasp her neck.

“My lord! I beg you!”

She whimpered, but the rage burning inside him made it hard to hear such a weak sound. Taking a swallow of the wine, he dumped the goblet behind him.

“I have need of a bitch.”

He forced her across the table, yanking her skirts up. A bucket of water hit him square in the face. Edmund snarled and turned on the person responsible. Avis rolled over the table and ran toward the door, where Margery stood with a bucket in hand.

“Run, girl! The master's gone insane.” The door slammed behind them.

“
I am not insane!”

He wasn't…wasn't…wasn't…Edmund pulled his own hair, slamming his fist against the closed door of his chamber. He was in a rage—burning in the grip of anger caused by Keir McQuade!

Margery grabbed her cloak, as well as one for Avis. “Come on, girl. We've got to flee this house. The evil eye is here.”

They had to run before the insanity touched them as it had their master.

“Run, girl! Run!”

 

“Now that is a fair nicer dress.”

Helena's husband sounded pleased. In fact, his men looked pleased with her appearance as well. A little flicker of enjoyment warmed Helena when she stepped outside to join them.

“I must admit that I don't care for court dresses too much.”

“'Tis glad I am to hear that. Those things would have no place at Red Stone.” Her husband stopped for a moment. “Unless ye wanted to wear them, I suppose.”

He looked as though he couldn't understand why she would want to. Her hunting dress was far easier to move in. Constructed of lightweight wool, it had only a petticoat beneath the skirts. There was no cartwheel farthingale with stiff boning to keep even when she walked, just a hip roll to help support the weight of the cartridge-pleated skirts. Her arms didn't need to be bent and positioned perfectly, because she had on only one pair of sleeves. While they were not common, they were built to move with the natural motion of her body. She felt freer than she had in years. Her mother had put her into court dresses a full year before she arrived at court, dictating that she wear nothing else so that she would become balanced and poised.