Dark Champion (41 page)

His clever hands explored her, finding every point of delight. His mouth accompanied his hands perfectly, summoning rich new sensations and building them, moment by moment, to her ecstasy.

This time there was no need for restraint, and nothing to fear. This time there was no pain, though when he entered her—slowly, oh so slowly—there was an amazing fullness and she tensed.

Imogen had closed her eyes, the better to drown in the dark pleasures he had summoned, but now she opened them to find him watching her in careful concern. “Just give it a moment, dearling. It’s only your second time, after all.”

Imogen considered the sensation and shifted her hips around him. “It is in a way, quite pleasant,” she said. “Just strange.” She shifted again and saw him catch his breath. The feelings she was stirring in herself were thrilling, but the look on his face was more so. She began to rotate her hips.

“By the Tomb,” he muttered, but he made no objection, and moved in counterpoint to her.

“Oh, my,” said Imogen. “I think I’m going to… with you in me.”

“Good.”

Imogen could no longer control her movements. “FitzRoger…” she muttered. “I…”

“It’s all right, Ginger,” he soothed. “It’s all right.” His hands and mouth continued to pleasure her, but it was their joining that was driving her wild.

Imogen was aware of thrashing upon the bed almost as if she were fighting him, and of his mighty body skillfully restraining her so that the madness built. “FitzRoger,” she gasped. “Remember that I scream!”

“Scream, my sweet virago. Scream the castle down.”

And Imogen did scream when she exploded. She screamed, “
Ty
!”

When she came to herself she was limp and drenched with sweat. Her heart still pounded. “I’m like a goblet shattered into pieces,” she whispered.

His hands soothed her, though they themselves trembled. “You’re quite whole, dearest one, and remarkably, so am I.”

She closed her eyes to absorb the trembling memories of her body’s ecstasy, and relive them. “I think I screamed rather loudly. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I wanted everyone to hear you scream. If they think I’m torturing you, so much the better.”

She opened her eyes to frown at him, but then just sighed and burrowed closer to his wonderful body. “I missed you so. Don’t they know that was a far worse punishment than even a beating?”

He tugged her hair so she had to look at him. “You thought that was a punishment? Then I punished myself. Even when I wanted to throttle you, I wanted you here to be throttled.”

“Then why did you keep us apart?”

His hand explored the pleasure points of her back, touched gently on the sting where he had had to strike her. “Once you were here, I knew I’d have to deal with it, and there was always the chance it could come to combat. I couldn’t risk fighting for you until I was fit again.”

“I thought of running away to save you from that,” she said. “And from offending the king.”

He shook his head. “You are not
supposed
to try to save me, remember?” But he was smiling. “I guessed. That’s why I made sure you had no money, and nothing you could turn into money.”

“Oh, I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“My morning gift,” she said shyly.

He slid from under her and went to his chest to take out the girdle. “You thought there was some symbolism? No.” He clasped the girdle around her waist. “You are mine for all time, Imogen, never doubt that.”

The words and the action were perfect, and yet there was something… something suggested by the way his eyes did not meet with hers.

Anxious to make all right, Imogen scrambled out of bed and ran naked to her own chest, the ivory and amethyst girdle clacking merrily. She opened the box and took out the leather pouch. “This is my gift to you,” she said, almost shyly. “I never had the chance to give it to you.”

He spilled out the emerald chain. “By the Rood… !” He was clearly pleased, and yet the shadows gathered more darkly, frightening her. What was wrong?

He dropped the chain over his head so the smooth stones glittered against his brown, muscular chest.

At last he looked at her, but his eyes were serious.

Imogen sat cross-legged on the bed before him. “Ty, what is it?”

He smiled, eyes sparkling like the jewels with pleasure. “You are using my name.”

“Yes.” Imogen wasn’t deflected. “What is worrying you?”

He touched the large central emerald, then met her eyes. “I took back your promise to the men who carried the treasure. They were well rewarded, but not given all they carried. That would have been madness, and they were as happy as not to be relieved of such responsibility.”

“Very well,” said Imogen. “But I would have given it all for your safety. I hope you know that.”

“I know it, and am still amazed.”

“So,” she said. “What else bothers you?”

He smiled ruefully. “You can read me like a book, can’t you? I have given Henry one half of the Carrisford Treasure.”

“Oh.” Imogen wasn’t pleased, but she was surprised by how light the displeasure was. “Well, I suppose after the trick we played, the whole world knew about it.”

“The king and I knew about it months ago. I came to this part of the country with instructions to win your hand one way or the other. The understanding was that half the treasure would eventually go into the king’s coffers. That was the price I was to pay for you and your lands.”

“You were to buy me with my own money?”

“Yes.”

“And when I came to you at Cleeve, you were preparing to seize me, weren’t you?”

“Yes. But for your protection. In the end, though, Henry would have given you to me.”

Imogen looked down and fiddled with the ivory girdle. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask,” she said, looking up. “But will you please give me your word that you had no hand in the death of Gerald of Huntwich?”

He was surprised. “Your first betrothed? I assure you, Imogen, I had no part in it, or your father’s death, but it was Huntwich’s death that started Henry and I planning. It was too good an opportunity to miss. It’s possible that Lancaster poisoned him, or even Warbrick and Belleme, but it could have been a natural death.”

“Axe there any more secrets?” she asked warily.

“Not of mine,” he said, and the shadows fled.

Imogen smiled radiantly and took his strong, callused hands, his warrior’s hands. “Nor of mine. So, what does the future hold for us, my mighty champion?”

He shook his head at the name, but said, “Under God’s will, peace in England. A long reign and strong sons for Henry, so that we and our children may live our lives as sweetly as this moment.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. “Lives guided always by love.”

She hardly dared to hope. “Are you saying you love me?”

“God’s breath, Imogen! Why else didn’t I whip you soundly down there?”

Imogen whooped with delight and set to tickling her mighty champion to death.