Carolyne Cathey (21 page)

Kyle released a
sigh and enclosed her against his warm body of hard muscle and hard desire, and
her pulse raged.  "Now, love, since all this ugliness with Lady Mellisande
is past, I have much to discuss with you.  Do you wish--"

"Past?  What
of the war her father threatened?"

Kyle shrugged. 
"I'd rather have war than marry his daughter."

Determined to
confess, to make restitution for her sins, she lifted her chin and prepared for
his passion-filled eyes to drown in fury.  "'Twas not an accident, my
lord.  I spilled the liquid apurpose."

He laughed. 
"I know.  As Jerrod would say, 'twas rich.  And then to see her true self
erupt, the sight would have given me much amusement, except for . . . "  He
stroked her cheek and her knees turned to sun-warmed butter.  "Does your
face still sting?"

"Only from
the heat of your touch, my lord."

A predatory growl
rumbled in the back of Kyle's throat, and she cursed herself for her moral
code. 

"When you
gaze upon me with those incredible emeralds, love, I lose the direction of my
thought.  Now, I ask you again.  Do you wish to walk to the keep, or shall I
take you upon my horse."

Eleanor smiled,
hardly believing in her good fortune of Kyle's forgiveness, of the aborted
marriage, of her return to the keep instead of the other horrid choices. 
"At last an easy decision, my lord.  You may take me upon your
horse."

One corner of
Kyle's mouth curved that lop-sided grin of his as his massive hand enclosed
hers.  "Ah.  I hoped you'd say that."

E
leanor wondered if Lord Kyle could feel her wild pulse as
he led her through the doorway of Lucinda's cottage.  How could he not?  Her
fingers throbbed with her heartbeat and betrayed her excitement.  She had
expected his anger and had received his desire.  Well, only the suggestion of
his desire, but 'twas still a rush to her senses.  He didn't hate her. 

Eleanor lifted her gaze to the ebony sky that shimmered
with starlight from the candles of a thousand angels.  The night air gusted
chilly against her face, rampant with the over-ripe smells of a village too
long in the same location--manure and garbage, along with the aroma of boiled
turnips and cabbage that someone cooked for their evening meal.  A dog barked
nearby, then she heard the shushing sound of a male voice, then silence, as if
the village held its collective breath, in hiding.  Had they heard of the
threat of war?  And if so, did they hold blame where due--on her errant tongue?

Valiant nickered at their approach, a shadowy form in a
patch of moonlight at the end of the path.  The village green spread behind
him, quiet and still, the pillory and stock awash with light, grim reminders
that if her master had been less kind, less understanding, she might have been
imprisoned there, awaiting her punishment.

Lord Kyle unfastened his belted scabbard and attached the
weapon on the side of the saddle.

"You don't fear an attack, my lord?"

Lord Kyle grinned, mischief in his eyes.  "I pray you
do.  Attack me, that is."

"Me?  Attack you?"  Eleanor planted her hands on
her hips.  "You act most devilish for a man who's been threatened with
war, Sire.  Nay, I meant an attack from Brigham or Lord Hanley.  Will you be
able to reach your weapon?"

"Aye, love.  'Twill be an easy grasp." 

The breathiness of his tone ignited a flame within her
chest. 

He mounted his midnight destrier, then leaned toward her. 
"Now, reach for me and I shall take you upon my horse."

"Thank you, my lord."  Her already over-worked
pulse increased in anticipation.

He laughed, rich and deep.  "You are most welcome, my
love.  Now, lift your skirts."

The memory his words invoked of when he had first commanded
the same, sent a traitorous jolt of desire to her innermost parts.  Perhaps
since she wore ladies' robes, not the shorter peasant skirt, 'twas necessary,
so she drew the fabric to her knees.

A groan rumbled low from his throat.  "As I lift you,
Eleanor, swing wide your legs."  He leaned down and grasped her under her
arms.  His touch burned through her silk gown to her heart, then mingled to
intensify her wantonness.

When he settled her on his horse, she faced him, her legs
astraddle his hips, atop his thighs.  "But, my lord, I face the wrong
direction."

"Can be done either way, but I prefer to see your face
when I take you.  I want to kiss your sweetness." 

Heaven's mercy.  He intended to kiss her on their way
home.  Eleanor's heart leapt into an aroused rhythm.  She would love another of
Kyle's incredible kisses.  For certain, the merging of their mouths wouldn't be
considered immoral.

He tightened his thighs beneath hers, and Valiant moved in
response from out of the cottage yard, past the ever-awaiting pillory and
stock, toward the open country to the castle.

"'Tis cold, lass.  Your feet must feel like ice. 
Place them upon Valiant, then snuggle against my chest and I'll wrap you in my
warmth."

Eleanor lifted her knees up under his mantle until her feet
rested on the destrier's back, and aye, the heat from Valiant melted the ice of
her toes a bit.  She gripped the hot steel of Kyle's hips with her thighs, and
more than her toes heated.  Fiery sparks flashed through her veins like liquid
lightning.  She clasped her fingers behind his back and rested her head against
his chest of warm bronze.  His heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear.

Eleanor watched the final thatched roof slide beyond her
view and prayed no one witnessed her unconventional position atop her master. 
Yet the black of his steed as well as Lord Kyle's mantle that enclosed her like
an embrace, blended with the sable of the night as if they were but a shadow
within shadows.  Only his hair and the white cross on the front of his cloak
gleamed in the moonlight. 

White. 

Against black. 

Her mission.
 

Fearing that her time with Lord Kyle vanished like a dream
upon awakening, only a bittersweet memory among ugly realities, she tightened
her arms around his waist and absorbed the feel of him against her body. 
"I must speak to you of Brigham, my lord."

"Not now, lass."

Tree-filtered moonlight slid over Lord Kyle's chest and shoulder
like intricate lace.  The night wind sighed and rippled the light. 

He nuzzled his face atop her head and increased her
desperation.  When the moment came that she had to leave him after she had
fulfilled her destiny, how would she bear the frigid loneliness without the
sunshine of his smile, without the warmth of his touch?  Pain ripped through
her chest and lodged in her throat.  Fighting tears, she swallowed around the
cramp and inhaled a shaky breath.

"But 'tis important I speak to you of your steward,
Sire."

Merciless, his fingers caressed her cheeks, her lips,
leaving a sensuous trail of heat.  "There is another importance that draws
my attention, love."  He brushed back her hair and ran his tongue around
the rim of her ear.  His hot breath dissolved her denial.

She fell silent, lost in the wonder of his nearness, the
wonder of how his slightest movement caused such rapture.  Her ear begged to
surrender to his mouth. She tilted her head to give him easier access, sinking
into a mindless sea of sensations.

Nay, she betrayed the dream.

Frightened, Eleanor pushed away, but he drew her against
his chest as if he would never let her go.

As the horse rocked her against Lord Kyle's body, she
became aware that her gown had bunched at her hips, and her naked womanhood
rubbed against his rigidness.  The erotic sensation caused moistness to form
between her legs.  She squirmed to shift her placement but only succeeded in a
tighter fit.

"Be patient, love."

"Nay.  You misunderstand, my lord.  I only meant not to
press against you, not to make you uncomfortable."  She closed her eyes at
the twisted truth.  'Twas really her discomfort that held her attention, but
the other sounded more noble.  To distract her tortured mind she concentrated
on the open-country scents of ripening grain, and horse, and leather . . . and
Kyle.

"I won't be uncomfortable much longer, lass." 
Brushing his hands down her back he gripped her buttocks and urged her against
his rock-like maleness.  "I've longed to slide into your slickness whilst
we sat upon my horse ever since that first time you rode with me to the keep. 
You wiggled your innocent backside against me until I thought I'd burst with
want."

"Nay, my lord, you must not."

Kyle brushed his rough fingertips across her lips to stop
her protest.  "Have you not heard, love?  A knight must have a daily joust
to perfect his skills."  He moaned as he ran his hands over her torso. 
"For the first time, you make me glad I'm a lord.  Not only may I take you
here upon Valiant, but I have my own chamber where I may take you when I will,
instead of stolen moments in not-so quiet corners, distant haystacks, and mossy
woods.  Although, since I am lord, I may take you there, as well."

Nay, she must stop him.  Soon.  After another incredible
sensation or two.  Kyle caressed her breast, and she gasped.  

His lips entrapped hers and drew the breath from her
lungs.  The dip of his rough-smooth tongue inside her mouth swept all reason
and sanity from her mind.  The heat of his kiss melted her resolve.  He tasted
of ale and spice.  He smelled of smoke, of outdoors, and the most alluring of
scents . . . Kyle.  Her mind turned to mush, as did her will.  Worried that she
would melt into a boneless puddle and fall off Valiant, she clasped her hands
behind Kyle's neck.

In too short a time, he drew back, his labored breaths warm
against her kiss-dampened face.  "My time grows short, Eleanor.  Love me,
lass.  Love me."  Then he crushed her against his body.  His lips searched
for hers, desperate, hungry, as if he would die without the taste of her.

She pulled away and shook her head to try to stir reason
and saneness into her mind.  "My lord, because of you, lust and morality
war within me, but I must be strong.  And I know in my heart the reasons reach
beyond my mission.  Tradition forbids I rule as your lady so I know 'twill
never be--and as your leman my soul would scorch with each fiery surrender
until naught remained but ashes."  Heartsick, she pressed her hands
against his chest and gazed up into his eyes.  "So I say nay, my lord.  We
must not.  Not ever."

Sighing as if in resignation, he rested his forehead on
hers and she felt him tremble.  "Despite what you think of me, Eleanor,
I'm an honorable knight.  I keep my word."

A quiver rippled along her flesh.  Did he refer to the
wager?  Surely not.  Struggling to tamp down her expectation, she looked up
into his face to read his innermost thoughts.  "By your word, what do you
imply, my lord?"

He appeared an unusual mixture of distress and eager
anticipation. "What might be your surmise?"

She could barely hear beyond the excited throbs in her
ears.  "The wager?  Do you mean the wager?  But what about the king?"

Distress flashed across his face.  "I have given an
unbreakable vow, and I must honor that vow, no matter the consequences." 

The vow.  Disappointment stabbed into her excitement. 
"But you would only do so to honor your oath and for no other
reason?"

He stopped any further questions with his mouth.  As she
melted beneath his kiss, he fumbled between them, down low, where her body
ached to be invaded.  Then his bare stiffness rubbed against her femininity. 
She felt a probe inside her as his fingers explored her vulnerability.

"Ah, you're ready, love."  He'd mumbled his
discovery against her lips.  "You're hot and slick, just for me."

Aye, she throbbed with desire and couldn't deny his
observation. 

His hands tightened on her buttocks.

Torn between right and want, she gripped his shoulders and
pushed away.  "Nay, my lord!  You must not!" 

"Your body tells me you want this merging as much as
I."  He whispered in her ear, his voice gravelly with need. 

She forced her head to shake a denial she didn't feel. 
"I know I have already sinned, my lord, but if I continue to wallow in my
sins, I'll burn in the fires of hell."

"Then the two of us will burn, together."  He
lifted her.

"But, my lord--"

"I must have you, Eleanor."  His body trembled. 
"I must bury myself in your heat.  Please, love.  Sheath my dagger." 

His lips persuaded with kisses as hot, as persistent as his
plea, and melted her resolve

Something about dreams and missions floated ghost-like
through her mind, then they faded into obscurity until only passion filled her
thoughts.  In truth, he had hinted he would honor the wager.  But just in case
. . .   "This one more time, my lord.  'Tis all."  She whispered her
fractured morality into his open mouth as she clung to his neck.

"Ah.  Is that so?  Then, prepare for a long ride,
love.  We might fall off the edge of the earth before I am sated with you. 
Even then, 'twill not be enough.  'Twill never be enough."  His virility
pressured for possession,

Her womanhood responded with a honeyed shudder.  Then she
felt fullness as he impaled her and made her one with him.  Her mind drowned
beneath her passion.  She moaned with pleasure, a moan that echoed his.  A
wanton hussy took control and shoved aside her morality.

"Ah, love."  Kyle's mouth devoured hers.  He
tasted of ale and spice, of sweetness, and sin.  He slid his tongue in rhythm
with Valiant's rolling gait.

Lost, that's how she felt.  Lost, yet found.  Wicked, yet
of heaven.

He caressed her thigh and up her body to her breast still
covered by her silk cote.  She longed to feel his fingers against her nakedness. 
After all, she would never again experience his touch.

As if he had heard her thought, he slipped his hand beneath
her gown and scorched a path up to her breast.

He rolled her nipple between his fingers as he had done his
pawn during their game of chess, and her nub budded as hard as the ivory. 
Aye.  His pawn.  To do with as he willed.  For one last time.

Although Valiant’s pace rocked them, Eleanor had to move on
her own.  Her body demanded as much.  She longed to feel the friction of him
inside her.  She tightened her muscles around him, inside as well as out.

"Great glory, Eleanor."  His in-drawn breath
rasped in the night-time silence broken only by the clops of Valiant's hooves.