Dark Champion (33 page)

Imogen fell stunned into the thin man’s arms, knowing neither threat was empty. Her gaze locked with FitzRoger’s for strength. There had to be something they could do!

There wasn’t.

He held her eyes calmly. His look didn’t promise anything, and yet it steadied her. He was only human, as was she. They would do what they could, and if he could, at the last possible moment, he would give her the gift of a swift death.

They rode back along the ways to the caves. The route was different, but not by much, and Imogen marked it as if that were a purposeful thing to do.

Her guard, Lig, kept an arm tight about her, and his sharp blade glinted in the corner of her eye, but other than that he ignored her. She knew, however, that he would slash her without hesitation even at a false alarm.

The hills and the caves came as a welcome destiny, though Imogen had no reason to think things would improve here. At least she didn’t think Warbrick would rape her here; he must know that one way or another she would be useless to him then. Hope, slender hope, would keep them dancing to his tune.

There were other torments, however. He could torture FitzRoger and still keep him alive enough to bargain with.

They watered the horses at the stream before climbing up to the caves. They had fodder with them, and the horses were settled with guards in one of the larger caves, one of the ones that honeycombed together.

If they were put in one of those caves, Imogen could find a way through the linked spaces to freedom. She knew the caves well.

Warbrick inspected and chose the cave they had used before. “In here,” he said. “It does not link with any of the others. Mark my kindness.” He leered at them. “I put you together for a few brief hours. Will you enjoy one another one last time, or has terror sapped your manhood, Bastard? I don’t mind. It’s nothing to me who’s gone before once a woman’s broken to a man.”

They were thrust into the gloom. “There are four guards at the entrance,” said Warbrick, “each knowing hell is mild compared to my vengeance if they let you slip. I will come for you at dark. Meanwhile,” he sneered, “I wish you joy.”

Then they were alone. Imogen fell into FitzRoger’s arms and he encompassed her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m failing you.”

She pulled back a little. “One man against thirty? What are you supposed to do?”

His lips curved slightly. “Perform a miracle?”

“Well,” she said, trying to match his tone, “if you can…”

He touched her face gently, thoughtfully. “I had one not quite miraculous transformation in mind,” he said softly.

“What?” But she knew.

“Virgin into wife.”

“Here?” Her eyes were growing used to the gloom, and she looked around at the stone walls and earth floor. She could see the silhouette of one guard blocking the door.

“Not ideal, I grant you, but…” He cradled her head in his calloused hands and she felt the slight unsteadiness of them. “I’m not sure I can kill you, Imogen. I’ll hope you can survive. But I’ll die to protect you—”

“I don’t want you to!”

“Can I live?”

“Can I?”

He held her close.

“If you can, Imogen, I want you to live. Warbrick is right—in this I am a coward. If I were going to kill you, it should be now, but I cannot do it. By the time all hope is gone, it will be too late.”

She put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t. Don’t speak of it. And you’re right. If we’re to die, I want it to be as your wife.” She didn’t add the other—that if she was to be raped by Warbrick, she would rather it not be as a virgin. She still had hope that Warbrick would bargain her willingness for FitzRoger’s life, and she’d pay, though what would come of it afterward, she couldn’t imagine.

His face lightened as if they were not in peril of their lives. “Then I intend to remove my mail, foolish though it may be.”

“How long do you think we have?” she asked nervously. She might want it, but it seemed a mad thing to be doing.

“Long enough. There’s a few hours before dusk.” He glanced at her and grinned. “Let’s hope they don’t intend to feed us.”

Amazingly, that summoned a laugh from her, and she felt lighter. “Should I undress?” Imogen asked, hands already at her girdle.

“No. If we are interrupted, the last thing we want is for you to be naked.” Then he added, “Perhaps the tunic.”

She slipped it off, still well covered by her kirtle and shift. “But…”

“We’ll manage, Ginger. This isn’t what I wanted for you, but it is all we can be sure of. For now,” he added. “Perhaps one day I can love you as I want.”

She knew he didn’t believe it.

She pondered the word
love
, but it was just a word to him, she decided, describing an act, not an emotion. Perhaps, in this situation, it was as well.

Love would weaken him.

She helped him off with his mail, and saw the wound had bled a little, but not too much. The other gashes looked healthy. He was so healthy it seemed impossible that he might die within the day…

She put her hand on his chest, drinking in the living strength of him, feeling the beat of his heart. For this moment, they were alive and together, and they would celebrate it. “What should I do?”

He drew her to the back of the cave, some twenty feet from the entrance. “It’s as well I always planned this with you on top,” he said, as he subsided to the floor and pulled her on top of him.

Imogen sprawled there. “What? Why?”

“Why not?” he murmured lazily, and kissed her.

Everything disappeared: the damp, the gloom, the guards, the danger. There was just FitzRoger’s hard body beneath her, his arms around, and his mouth soft and welcoming beneath hers. She plundered him for sensation, tasting him, stretching him. When his mouth escaped to roam around her neck, she arched up and felt him hard beneath her hips.

“Now?” she gasped.

“Not yet, my hungry virago.”

He ripped the front of her kirtle.

Imogen gasped.

Then, under her astonished gaze, he slid down her loose shift so her breasts were exposed, held up by the bands of cloth. Her nipples were rosy and already standing proud.

“More precious than any treasure,” he said softly, and drew her body down. His mouth was hot, and for a moment, gentle. Then he sucked hard. Imogen cried out and clutched at him.

“Hush,” he said, half laughing. “You’re a noisy bed partner, but if you make too much noise they’ll want to come and watch.”

She didn’t think that was a joke either.

“What’s going on in there?” called one of the guards, his black shadow blocking out the trace of sunshine.

“We’re talking,” said FitzRoger a bit unsteadily. “Is that a crime?”

“You, woman,” the guard growled. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said Imogen, stifling a giggle.

“Then keep talking. I don’t want him slitting your throat when
I’m
on guard.”

“
What
?” Imogen exclaimed as the guard retreated.

“You heard the man,” said FitzRoger, and she could swear he was amused. “Keep talking or he’ll be back to check that you’re alive.”

“Lord save me,” she muttered. Her mind was blank to all but his body, and his mouth tormenting her. “I can’t do this!”

“I have great faith in you. You can do anything.” His tongue teased the tip of her breast in a way that sent shivers through her.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said desperately, “that we could have colors on the walls in the hall.”

FitzRoger laughed softly and his mouth settled on her breast again.

“Pink, perhaps, or yellow. Something bright…
Oh, Sweet Heaven
… Flowers! At Cleeve too.”

“Over my dead body,” he muttered, and turned his attention to the other breast.

“Hangings!” Imogen said desperately. “We had…
Oh, my
… We had silk ones from Florence, you know.”

His skillful teasing of her breasts fractured thought. “They were…
FitzRoger
! They were… They were…” A wave of intense pleasure finally rendered her speechless.

“Silken treasures,” he prompted, easing her away a little. “Very beautiful, like you.”

“Very beautiful,” she repeated weakly, and sought him in the shadows. “Like you.”

Humor crinkled his eyes. “If your Florentine hangings were only as beautiful as I, Imogen, you were cheated.” He moved her gently to straddle his thighs, pushing up her skirts in a stroke of his strong, callused hands.

“You
are
beautiful—”

But his fingers had found her most sensitive flesh and she melted into dizzy silence.

“Keep talking, Ginger.”

She gulped. “You’re enjoying this!” she hissed.

“Yes. Aren’t you?”

A shuddering spasm passed through her. “You’re mad… Wine!” she said loudly. “We need wine! Lots of wine!”

“Lots and lots of wine. And honey. Up on your hands and knees for me, sweet honey.”

She rose up so his mouth could reach her breasts while his hand stroked between her thighs.

“What else do we need?” he asked between licks. “Herbs, spices? You’re very spicy. Fruits? Melons come to mind. And oranges. Oranges from Spain. You taste sweeter than the sweetest orange…”

“I love oranges,” she gasped. “So juicy. FitzRoger, I need to kiss you.”

“Not yet,” he replied, and teethed her.

Imogen just managed to swallow the cry of pleasure. “I can’t
not
cry out when you do things like that!” she protested. “It’s not fair.” Her hips were moving against him. She was aching deep inside.

“Oranges,” he prompted as his fingers slid toward the ache.

“They’re…
Oh
!” She sucked in an enormous breath. “Don’t! Don’t stop! They’re orange!”

“They’re orange,” he agreed as breathlessly as she. “And you’re juicy. Now it’s time, Ginger.”

“Thank the Lord.”

“And you’re going to do it.”

“What?”

“In case you still have any problems about this.” He unfastened his linen drawers to expose his erection. ‘Take me into you.“

Imogen looked at it wide-eyed. It seemed rather larger than she remembered, and rather larger than she could comfortably contain.

But an ache inside said otherwise.

She put her hands around him and the heat startled her.

The movement she caused startled her too, as did his sucked in breath.

She hesitated. There was a big problem here.

She hated to admit it, but she whispered, “I don’t even know where it goes.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “You don’t know your own body?” He took her right hand and placed it between her thighs. “Slide your fingers back. You’ll find the place.”

She slid her fingers back through what felt like cream, and paused. “Oh, it feels almost as sweet as when you touch me there!”

“Remember that if I’m away.”

One of Father Wulfgan’s more mysterious warnings finally made sense. “But that’s a terrible sin!”

“But one you’re least likely to be caught at. Come on, Ginger.”

She heard the urgency in his voice and could feel the tension in his body between her legs. It was echoed in the need that thrummed in her. She moved her fingers farther and her body told her she had found the need he could fulfill.

“Found it?” he asked unsteadily.

“Yes.”

“Now take me, and put me there.”

Imogen put her hand around him to guide him. Her hand was slick now from her own juices and slid against his rigid heat, so she moved it around him. She felt the quiver her touch caused, and looked at him in wonder. Even in the gloom she could see his hot need.

She could do this to him, and she delighted in it. She explored him with her hand, gently, and then, remembering Wulfgan again, impulsively ducked and licked up the length of him.

His whole body heaved beneath her, almost throwing her off.

“Imogen!” he gasped. “Another time, yes?”

“But you like that?” she asked, grinning.

“Yes, I like that.” It sounded as if his teeth were gritted. “But take me into you. Make me your husband, Ginger.”

She laughed shakily at that and rose up to guide him into the place that hummed in readiness. As soon as he began to fill her she gasped at the tightness.

“You’d better say something,” he whispered.

“I want this,” she said quite clearly, wanting to tell the world. “You can’t know how much I want this.”

“Oh yes I can,” he muttered, causing her to laugh again.

“You are rather big, though,” she said as she eased carefully down. “Are all men… ? Oh.” She froze.

“It’s for you to do, Imogen.”

There was pain. Real pain. She could feel the barrier and it was going to hurt to go any farther.

She pushed down gently and the pain grew, so she stopped.

“I don’t know…” she said anxiously. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t be like this, this time…”