Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (11 page)

her lips but her hand stayed in his hair.

"You are a quick learner, sweeting," he said gruffly, feeling his cock growing hard all over again.

"I have a lot of time to make up for losing," she said, grinning at him. "What now?" Her eyes widened.

"Will you suckle me as the scullery maid's lover did her?"

His gaze dropped to her sweet bosom and he sighed. "I would like nothing better, milady, but my chest

is…"

"Of course!" she said. "Lie back down. I am such a terrible woman!" Her gaze fell to his paps. "Do

women suckle men even though there is no milk?"

Sierran felt his shaft leap. "Aye, but many women like to suckle…" He blushed. "A man's dangly."

Her eyes flared. "You can do that?" She looked down at his cock, turning her head to one side as if

contemplating such a strange notion.

"Well, I can't, but you could if you are of a mind to," he answered. "If a man could suckle his own

dangly, there would never be any work done."

"Or wars started?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

"Most likely not," he agreed. "Let me show you something."

Celeste was eager to try anything new—especially with this gorgeous man who had practically fallen into

her lap. She drew in a slow breath as his hand trailed down from her breast, over her belly and into the

curls between her legs.

"Umm," she said as he gently stroked those perky little hairs. "That feels good."

Sierran was making slow, lazy little circles around her silky bush but then dipped the tip of his fingers

downward against her clitoral hood and she practically jumped out of the bed.

"Sierran!" she hissed, arching her hip up against his hand. "Yes, Sierran. Yes!"

His fingers dipped lower until he was softly rubbing her folds, smiling at the purr that was coming from

deep within her throat. She lay there with her hips rotating in a timeless rhythm of which she was

completely unaware. Her full lips were parted, her eyes closed, her face filled with passion. He could feel

her body tightening, becoming as sweetly strung as a new bow and when she clamped her hand on his,

lifted her hips high and came for him, he gently slid the tip of his finger inside her.

"By the gods, yes!" she shouted, quivering like a leaf in a fresh breeze.

Marveling at the good fortune that had come from such a wicked, evil beginning, he stilled his hand upon

her moist mound—that tip still pressing into her throbbing sheath—and met her surprised gaze as her

eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him with wonder.

"I had no idea," she said in a breathless whisper.

"There is more, milady," he said. "Much, much more and when I am able, I will take you on a journey of

discovery that will delight you."

She was stroking his hand, reveling in the feel of him touching her in such an intimate place. The wiry

hairs on the back of his hand delighted her for the feel of them beneath the pads of her fingertips was

supremely male.

"I will make you a good wife," she said.

Sierran smiled. "Of that I have no doubt."

They fell asleep looking at one another within a silence that was gentle and peaceful and filled with

growing affection.

Vaughn Morgan was very annoyed. He had been pacing the pier, watching for the arrival of the
Akinos

for several hours. When at last the sails of the Orulesian ship were sighted, he slapped his riding crop

against his buff britches in agitation. "This is unacceptable," he told his servant. "Completely

unacceptable."

"Aye, milord," the beleaguer man replied with a sigh.

Sierran's eldest brother had never been a patient man and his patience had worn even thinner the longer

he had waited. Pacing the pier, he glowered at the approaching ship, his handsome face set in a perpetual

frown of disapproval.

"Uh, oh," Vargas said. "That looks like the commander's brother."

Mac sniffed. "Looks like trouble to me," he mumbled.

"I'd best go warn him," Vargas said, turning away from the rail.

* * *

Sierran was relieving himself when the light rap came at the cabin door. He hurriedly stuffed himself into

the britches Vargas had left for him and rushed to answer the knock before whoever it was could wake

Celeste. Glancing at her to make sure she was covered with the tangled sheet, he quietly opened the

door.

"Morning, Commander," Vargas said. "I'm afraid I've got news that ain't going to set too well with you."

Letting out a long breath, Sierran motioned Vargas to move back. He joined his sergeant in the corridor.

"What's happened?"

Vargas shifted uncomfortably before the commander. "It's your brother, sir. Lord Vaughn is waiting for

you on the pier and from the looks of it he's brought a whole retinue with him."

Sierran rolled his eyes. "That's all the hell I need," he grumbled. "Is he the only member of my family

here?"

"As far as I could tell. I got a glimpse of that fancy sloop of his docked at our pier but didn't see no one

else loitering about it."

"All right," Sierran said, raking a hand through his hair and wincing at the pull of the cuts on his chest.

"He'll make a beeline over the gangplank as soon as it's dropped. Keep his ass on deck. I don't need him

down here bothering my lady."

Vargas nodded. "Aye, sir."

Being as quiet as he could, Sierran went back into the cabin and started looking for a shirt. He was

loathe to put it on over his wounds but to meet Vaughn not properly dressed was to invite a lecture he

didn't want to get.

"What are you doing, milord?" Celeste asked, sitting up. She was stretching, her arms crooked to either

side of her head, and the sheet fell away to display her lush breasts.

Sierran drew in a sharp breath at that lovely sight. She was so easy with her budding sexuality,

completely uninhibited and that was something he found fascinating.

"I'm looking for a shirt," he said at last.

Celeste frowned. "Why?" she asked, tossing the sheet aside and climbing out of the bunk, her long legs

looking as smooth as freshly whipped cream. "Don't you think that would hurt?"

He had to shake his head to clear it of the carnal images those shapely limbs had conjured in his mind.

"I…uh…I can't go around bare-chested, my love," he told her.

"I suppose not," she said, sighing. She dragged the sheet from the bed and wrapped herself up in it. "It

is a might cold." She pursed her lips. "Where is the…?"

He pointed to the screen on the far side of the cabin. "There's a close stool," he said.

Celeste smiled at him then came over to stand in front of him. "Good morning, husband," she said and

stood on her tiptoes to give him a chaste kiss on the lips.

The kiss was short—almost perfunctory—but the look in Celeste's eye sent shudders of desire rippling

through the warrior. He just stood there watching her disappear behind the screen and had to mentally

thump himself on the head to remember what he'd been doing before she had climbed out of his bed.

"Shirt," he said. "I was looking for a shirt."

He was struggling to put on the cotton shirt when Celeste came up behind him. She had pulled on only

her chemise and he could see her bare toes peaking out from beneath the muslin hem. "Here, let me help,

dearling," she said.

Sierran blinked at her use of the word as she held the shirt for him to slip his other arm into the sleeve.

No one had ever called him any form of endearment—not even his own parents—and it rocked him to

his very foundation. Though the pain in his back multiplied a thousand times as the material touched the

whip marks, he barely felt it for his heart was surging with feelings so completely outside his experience

he couldn't even thank her for her help.

"I'll button it," she said, coming around in front of him and putting her hands to the shirt to pull it carefully

closed over his chest. Although she didn't look up at him, he sensed the frown on her face.

"I'm all right, milady," he said.

She glanced up at him. "Yes but covering these wounds with this scratchy cloth must to be agony for

you. I would just as soon you not attempt putting a coat on over this shirt."

He had to stop himself from shrugging—knowing that would make the hurt worse. "Whatever you think

best."

Carefully buttoning the shirt front, she told him he was not to try tucking it into his pants, either.

"Aye, milady," he agreed, feeling lightheaded with the affection he was feeling for her that was growing in

leaps and bounds. It was so far beyond his realm of familiarity for someone to give a care about his

comfort he could feel tears building behind his eyes.

"How far is it to your home?" she asked.

"Less than half a mile," he replied. "I built it upon a rise to have a better view of the sea."

She smiled. "That should be lovely."

"It is," he bragged.

"We'll take a coach," she said. "Or a wagon. No horses for you for awhile."

His heart ached at her care for him. "Whatever you think best."

Celeste met his gaze. "Sierran, I am not accustomed to having my words accepted," she said. "Nor am I

accustomed to being asked my opinion or being expected to do anything save nod and agree. If I am

behaving in a bossy manner…"

He reached out to put his palms against her cheeks, tipping her face up gently. "No one has ever cared

enough about me to make sure I'm looked after, Celeste. Boss me all you will."

She blushed. "You may regret saying that," she warned him.

"I think not," he said in a husky voice and bent forward to claim her lips—something he'd wanted to do

since she awoke.

Celeste opened her lips to his gentle assault and met his thrusting tongue with her own, sweeping past his

to flick across the arch of his mouth.

Sierran pulled back, hiked one dark brow, and grinned. "Madame, you and I are going to…"

The knock that came on the cabin door before it was rudely thrown open stiffened Sierran's body and

the angry look that passed over his face made Celeste's eyes open wide with fright. She stared up at him

as his attention shifted furiously from her to whoever had dared enter the cabin uninvited.

"Sierran, I should have known you had a doxy in here! No wonder you've kept me waiting!"

Celeste whipped around.

"Why you…!" she began but Sierran pushed her gently but firmly aside.

"You've the manners of an ass, Vaughn," Sierran stated. "And if you ever call this lady a doxy again, I'll

break your gods-be-damned jaw!"

Vaughn Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "The devil you will, you little whelp! I'll beat you black and blue

for?" He started forward only to have the woman beside his brother block his path.

"You lay a hand to him and I'll scratch your eyes out, you unspeakable boor!" she said, hands planted on

shapely hips, her bosom heaving.

Sierran put his hands on her shoulders to move her out of the way but she shook him off.

"Get the hell out of our cabin," Celeste shouted.

"Who
is
this termagant, Sierran?" Vaughn demanded, taking a step back for the woman in question had

actually tried to kick him.

"I am…" Celeste began but her husband slipped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back against him,

wincing at the contact of her back against his injured chest.

"Just go up top, Vaughn, and we'll be along as soon as my lady is dressed," Sierran said, gritting his teeth

against the pain he was experiencing.

"Don't you dare dismiss me, Sierran," Vaughn snapped in a gruff voice. "I?"

"Go!" Sierran yelled. "Now!"

So amazed his younger brother would dare raise his voice to him, Vaughn took another step back but

retaliation darted through his dark brown eyes and he lifted his chin. "You will regret speaking to me in

that manner, Sierran DeLyle Morgan!" he hissed and spun around to stomp out of the cabin.

Celeste dug her elbow into her husband's stomach to make him release her. He gasped as his hands fell

away from her shoulders and when she turned around, the front of his shirt had red streaks staining the

material.

"Oh, Sierran, no!" she said. She put her hands out to him but he stumbled back.

"Don't," he said, holding up a hand to stop her. Her elbow had connected with the stitch she had taken

in his flesh and the wound had broken open again.

"I'm so sorry," she said, tears flooding her eyes. “Oh, Sierran, forgive me.”

Despite the pain throbbing in his chest, he grinned. "My brother has it right, sweeting. You are a

termagant when you're riled."

"That man can’t be kin to you," she gasped.

"My eldest brother," he said. He plucked the shirt away from his chest and flinched. "I have three others

but he’s the worst of the lot."

Vargas suddenly appeared in the doorway of the cabin. "I tried to stop him, Commander, but you know

how he can be," he said.

"That cur doesn't matter. Help me get him out of this shirt, Vargas," Celeste said. "He's bleeding."

The sergeant's face hardened. "Did his brother do that to him? If he did I'll have his arse…"

"I did it," Celeste admitted. "And you can beat my arse for it when we've seen to him."

"No man will lay a hand to you save me, Celeste Morgan!" Sierran stated. He gave Vargas a look as

cold as ice. "She didn't mean to do it. It was an instinctive thing."

"I'm sure she didn't," Vargas agreed. He was watching the lady unbutton his leader's shirt. "And
cur
is a

right good name for that man."