Heather Graham (27 page)

“Or beat me?”

“It’s quite legal by
French
law for a man to beat his wife,” he reminded her. “That is a matter I may well muse on for a while …”

She gritted her teeth, trying to shove against him. He caught her hands. His words had been spoken lightly enough, but his eyes narrowed in warning. “As I said, Countess, had I come in but a few moments later—”

“You would have found me alone!” she interrupted. “I’d not have allowed things to go further under the circumstances.”

“Under the circumstances that I arrived here today?”

“Under the circumstances that I did not, nor did I ever intend to, betray the betrothal,” she said. “Which I’m quite sure you have done on many an occasion!”

He smiled again. “I am a decade older than you, milady. And I fear I was not destined to live as a monk.”

“Perhaps I was not destined to live as a nun!”

His smile faded and she was deeply sorry she had spoken.

“You should thank God then, Danielle, that you have chosen to do so until now!” he warned.

She felt her cheeks go pale, and once again, she longed with all her heart to throw him from her. It was intolerable that she had to remain caught beneath him after an act of such intimacy. He was so heedless of his nakedness beneath the robe, of his sprawl atop her. She felt the heat where his body touched her, felt the coolness of the air where it did not. A massive wealth of tears rose behind her eyes once again and she fought them furiously. She could not help but think of all the chivalrous, romantic tales she had read. Simon had loved her. Other men had been enamored of her. But she was married to Adrien, and her wedding night had become an explosion of fury, a familiar stranger sprawled atop her. His was a warrior’s body, a knight’s form, sharpened and honed to perfection like the blade he carried, magnificent in some ways … imprisoning in others!

She swallowed hard, blinking back the tears. “You promised me time. You … you had no right!”

He rolled to her side at last, then rose, his robe still about him yet open as he walked to the fire, hunched down, and sparked the flame with an iron poker. Danielle tried to fold the remnants of her nightdress about her, inching back on the pillows as he stood again, staring into the flames. “I had every right,” he told her flatly.

“But you had promised—”

“Time. But time ran out this evening when I discovered that your lover—all right, your very close male friend-nearly-lover!—was guilty of treachery in more ways than one. And I warned you, Danielle. I warned you long ago that I would give no quarter if you did not keep your word of honor.”

“But—”

“Danielle, you little fool! Didn’t it occur to you that it was strange your
friend
was so determined to have a hunt on the same day that raiders rode down upon you?”

She gasped, sitting up to stare at him, forgetting her dishevelment. “You’re wrong! Simon wouldn’t have tricked me so—”

“Simon did trick you so.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I sent Daylin and your own Ragnor back to find the raider I battled in the woods. He was half dead and in agony. In exchange for Doctor Coutin’s care and the chance to live, he was more than willing to tell us what we wished to know.”

“If you tortured a confession out of the fellow—”

“Madame, I tell you in truth—I have never tortured a soul upon this earth.”

She bit into her lower lip. “Other than me!”

His brow rose, his lip curved into a slight smile.

“What did you do with Simon?” she asked him.

He was still for so long that her deepest fear rose to her breast. Terrified that he had summarily executed the Frenchman, she found herself leaping from the bed. Scarcely aware of the soreness that still wracked her body, she catapulted for him. Her fingers wound into fists and she slammed them against his chest. “Damn you, Adrien—”

He caught her wrists, and her eyes widened as he dragged her hard against him. She had attacked with an insane aggression. Now she was on the defensive, painfully aware of him again. The thick, crisp auburn hair upon his chest teased her breasts. The tautness of his belly and hips ground against her. The hardness grew palpably against her even as she stood crushed against him, her cheeks flaming, her eyes as wide and glistening as those of a doe caught in firelight.

“Adrien—” she began, moistening her lips.

His eyes impaled her. “Simon is alive,” he told her angrily.

“But you plan on slaying him—”

“An execution might be in order.”

“Because he was my friend—”

“Because he meant to kidnap you from Aville, enjoy the very delights you have discovered tonight, rape you if you didn’t come willingly into his arms, and bring you and Aville over to the domain of Jean of France. Ah, not so horrid a thought! Is that what you are thinking, milady?”

“Adrien, stop it! You judge without proof—”

“Proof! Do you think me a fool?”

“Perhaps he loved me, wanted me! You mustn’t judge Simon so harshly—”

“Damn you!” he roared with such anger that she fell silent. His voice shook as he warned, “Milady, common sense should warn you that for his sake as well as your own, you should keep Simon out of this bedroom for the rest of the night.”

“But you must tell me—”

“You must let it suffice to know that I have not skewered him through with my sword. Sweet Jesu, don’t press this further or I might be tempted to run out and do just that!”

She kept quiet, afraid he might carry out his threat. They were married, and he had caught Simon with his hands on her in their bedroom. Any man would say that he had a right to his fury.

He did not release her. She knew that she dared not mention Simon’s name again. She stared up at Adrien finding it difficult to breathe, wishing to be left alone to gather back some shreds of dignity. She inched her chin up and told him, “You have bested Si—your adversary, and you have had your vengeance upon me. Please, I beg you, if you would just please go now … ?” she whispered.

“Vengeance?” he inquired, and seemed amused once again. “Any bride spends a night such as this!”

“Nay, sir! You know that you owe me an apology—”

“Never, milady, will I apologize for making love to my own wife!” he told her, eyes narrowed, a spark of warning to his voice.

Her lashes lowered. “You didn’t—make love. You were furious.”

“For that, Danielle, I am sorry. But it is done now, and perhaps it is well that this all came to so explosive a point, for I was not pleased with your arrangement.”

“I was not pleased with your demands, nor the king’s!”

“Ah, but I am delighted that the king’s pleasure and mine coincide so completely!” he assured her. He suddenly swept her up and into his arms and she gasped, palms pressing against his chest once again as he carried her back to the bed. He laid her down upon it and tiny flames leaped through her as she felt the golden heat of his eyes once again, and knew his intent.

“Adrien, please—” she protested on a broken whisper. “This is—agony.”

“Nay, milady, it will not be so again. Don’t seek to dissuade me—I will not be dissuaded. But this time, Danielle, I will make love, I will strive to be gentle, tender but passionate … perfect,” he promised very softly. A deft movement with his hands split what remained of her silk gown, and she felt a whisper of cool air sweep over her body. She twisted her head to the side, wishing she could curl away from the man who now lay by her side, propped up on an elbow. “Lie still!” he whispered.

“I—cannot.”

“Ah, Danielle!” he said, his voice still soft, and oddly whimsical. “You—who do not surrender! Do you beg mercy of me now?”

Aye! the word shrieked within her mind. But he was only teasing her, taunting. He would not let her go tonight. She knew that full well.

Her head snapped back. Her eyes met his. “Never. Damn you!” she cried.

He smiled. His hand cupped her cheek, his lips found hers once again. She wouldn’t allow the kiss, she determined. She would refuse to succumb to his demand.

But his kiss didn’t demand. His lips just feathered over hers, the tip of his tongue teased as lightly as a butterfly’s wing. She gasped for a breath while her heart beat in fury. Only then did his mouth cover hers, sensually, the stroke of his tongue filling her mouth slowly.

His hand moved … over her breast, cupping and cradling the weight of it. He massaged her nipple with his palm. Amazingly, she felt that touch like a streak of lightning all the way inside her, and down … down to a deep warmth that now began to spread with a strange, exotic sense of urgency between her thighs. She tried to stir again, to turn from him. His lips broke from hers. His weight shifted down her body. His mouth closed over her breast, his tongue stroking the nipple. She swallowed back a cry, her fingers falling into his hair, tugging upon it. He could not be budged, and the sweeping sensations began to swirl, hot and honeyed throughout her. Dear God, but she would fight them—she would not fall prey to this knight who had ridden back into her life only to seize upon everything …

Even upon her heart.

“Nay!” she cried out, but he would not be stopped. His body eased further down upon hers. She tried to escape him by inching upward, yet only managed to serve his purpose once again, for now his gold and auburn head lay at the juncture of her thighs, parted by his weight and body, and she was powerless to stop him when his most intimate kiss came even there—slow, lazy, relentless. Excruciating. Touching, tasting, exploring …

A cry escaped her lips. She twisted, writhed, swore, threatened, and gasped. She shoved his shoulders, tore at his hair. Then, with another gasp, she ceased to fight, stunned by the sensations overwhelming her. Then she gasped out a ragged breath and began writhing, undulating, her fingers tearing into the bedcovers. Sweet hunger raged through her, soaring, eclipsing all but an aching desire to fulfil the erotic promise that licked and teased at her, flesh and soul. She strained against him, felt the hot, wet sensation that at last exploded into an anguished pleasure that shot through her again and again until she thought she would die.

Then he was atop her and within her again. She could bear no more, she thought, pleasure or pain. Tears stung her eyes as she braced against him stiffly, alarmed by the volatile ecstasy that had burst upon her.

“Hold me, lady. By God, cease to fight me, cease to fight me!”

His arms were around her as he moved within her again. He was slow, careful. Waiting. She felt no pain at all. The sweetness, the hunger that she had thought so sated, grew once again. She didn’t want to allow it; she writhed to avoid his thrust, but she couldn’t fight the onslaught of longing. Incredulously, she realized that she was rising to meet him, to feel him deeper and deeper inside herself …

The magic began, the liquid fire starting where his body joined so intimately with hers and sweeping through the length of her again. She clung to him as he had commanded, gasping for each breath. Slowly, his rhythm grew faster, harder. His pace built, his thrusts deepened, and he began to move like the winds of a winter storm. He held her firmly to his desire, stroking the swiftly rising fire he had created within her. He swept into her as fiercely as a tempest, and the spiral of desire rose and rose until she was crying out, desperate to reach that sweet intoxication once again.

The sensation burst within her. All of her body seemed touched by the violent explosion. She shuddered and shuddered again, barely aware of him as the world seemed to shatter to a velvety blackness scattered with stars. Tiny convulsions rippled through her again and again while she pressed her face hard against his slick, muscled chest, fingers digging into his arms.

Then she was aware of her own breath. Of him sliding away from her. The pleasure had been all but unbearable. It left her shaken.

Afraid. Embarrassed.

“Danielle?” He reached for her, drawing her against him. He had the strength to do so, no matter how she stiffened at his touch. She kept her head bowed and her lashes down. She was surprised and unnerved by the tenderness in his touch as he smoothed back her hair.

“Was it agony?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted curtly.

“Ah. Well, then—was it wonderful beyond all words?”

“No!” she cried out, lying with deep mortification.

But his husky laughter assured her that he knew she had suffered no pain.

“Alas, I fear I have failed you. But you needn’t fret. I shall simply have to keep trying until I get things … perfect.”

She met his eyes in alarm. “You’ve not failed me in any way. You were—stupendous!” she snapped out.

But he smiled again, lowering his head to hers. “You are too kind, and I am so very delighted. You will therefore not mind the act of consummation once again!”

She groaned softly, too dazed to find any way to win against him tonight. She was alarmed at how quickly she had fallen prey to him. Not to his strength, which she could not best, but to his powers of seduction and persuasion. She had never imagined feeling this … this passion, this desperate longing.

“If you would only let me be!” she whispered. “I tell you, I cannot, I cannot move, I cannot feel, I cannot—” She paused, aware that he was staring at her, waiting. “I cannot do this thing again!”

He didn’t laugh. He was very serious, his knuckles brushing her cheeks. His lip curled just slightly. “And I tell you, my lady, you can, and you will. I am still seeking to be perfect.”

“You have been perfect enough.”

“Alas, you fight me so, it’s hard to tell.”

“Surely, no knight has ever been more perfect.”

“What sweet flattery! If only there was a touch of truth behind it!”

“Adrien, I swear—”

“Nay, lady,
I
swear. You are my wife, you can and will make love with me yet again. When tonight is over, you will never forget that we are legally wed, before God, and man and wife in all ways. I’ll not let you protest …”

When dawn broke, she slept at last. And in the end, he’d had his way, as usual.

She’d not managed a single protest.

Nor would she ever, ever forget that she was married, nor her first night as Laird MacLachlan’s bride.