Master Of Surrender (13 page)

Rohan pressed his lips to the delicate shell of Isabel’s ear. He nibbled the edge and decided he might want to learn more of damsels and their ways this winter. When her body arched and a soft moan escaped her lips at his touch, Rohan was encouraged to do more. He ran his tongue along the inner edge of her ear and pressed his hand more firmly to her breast. He felt her nipple pucker beneath his fingertips. He answered with a thrust of his hips against her back. Isabel’s hand tightened around his thigh. When she moved her other hand to his thigh and pressed into his skin, he pushed harder against her back. His hand clasped her breast, and his lips dropped to the soft spot behind her ear.

Isabel’s body stiffened. “Sleeping Beauty awakens,” Rohan whispered against her skin. Her body trembled, yet she did not push away from him. He took her lead and kissed her neck, running his tongue along her warm skin. “I have never touched a woman as soft as you, Isabel. You make me forget we are enemies.”

When she did not resist, he did something that surprised him more than it surprised Isabel. He whistled to Stefan. The young knight slowed and turned to Rohan. “Aye?”

Rohan trotted up to the knight and handed him the torch. He would need two hands for what he wanted to do to the damsel. “Take this, and await me up ahead. I will only tarry for a moment.”

Stefan looked to Isabel, then to Rohan, but took the torch and nodded. He trotted just up the way, the torches casting a dim glow where Rohan sat astride his mount. He pulled the mantle from Isabel’s body and then lifted her and turned her to face him. He wrapped the mantle back around her shoulders. To keep her warm but more to shield her from Stefan’s prying eyes.

He moved back in his saddle to give her more room, but for what he had in mind, closeness was required. In the pale light of the waning moon illuminating the path, Isabel looked up at him with startled eyes. Fatigue smudged the skin purple beneath her lashes, but he could not help himself.

He slipped an arm around her waist and brought her hard against his chest. “You will spend this night in my bed, Isabel. And every night until I say otherwise.”

She stiffened. “Until you tire of me and cast me out?”

Rohan grinned. With his teeth, he pulled the gauntlet from his right hand and lowered it to her breast. He rubbed a thumb against an impudent nipple that strained against the rough fabric of her gown. Isabel hissed in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut. When he moved the hand to her thigh and pulled her gown up, she opened her eyes. Anger raged. “Would you take me on this horse?”

“Nay, I wish only to slake my hunger a bit.” He pulled her roughly against him and seized the moment, crushing his lips to hers.

T
he impact of Rohan’s kiss left Isabel limp and breathless. Had she not been so fatigued, she told herself, she would have fought him off, but she used that as an excuse to succumb to his carnal persuasion. Indeed, instead of feeling languid, she sensed a new rush of energy fill her.

Rohan’s arm tightened like a band of steel around her waist, pulling her harder against him while his lips plundered and took from her what her mind so desperately wanted to hold hostage. In a slow, sensuous slide, his tongue slid along her lips, dipping into her mouth, softly touching hers. The intimacy of the contact shook her resolve. His large hand moved slowly up her leg to her thigh, his fingers slowly circling her skin, leaving her warm in its wake.

An unfamiliar tightening in her womb frightened her, but more than that, it excited her. She felt liquid, pliable, like warm beeswax in his hands. The space between her thighs grew warmer, and she felt moistness there. Rohan’s hand slid farther up her leg, and when he pressed his palm against her sensitive mound, she nearly shot out of the saddle. When she moved against him, he pressed a fingertip to her wet opening. She moaned and grabbed onto his shoulders to keep herself from tumbling to the hard earth.

“Jesu!” Rohan cursed, and pushed her away from him. Isabel opened her mouth to demand to know what she had done wrong, but heat flooded her cheeks. Holy Mother, she had become a willing partner in his carnal game!

Rohan moved her around to face the pommel and away from him. He gathered up the reins and nudged the destrier forward. Without a word, he grabbed the torch from Stefan’s hand, set his spurs to the horse’s flanks, and thundered toward Rossmoor.

Isabel sat rigid and confused in the saddle. Her lips throbbed from his assault, her breasts felt heavy from his hand, and below? Isabel squeezed her eyes shut. She ached. And despite her ignorance, she knew only Rohan could quell the feeling.

Isabel opened her eyes to the darkness of the night. She pulled the mantle tighter around her shoulders. Confusion reigned in her head. What had just happened? Why was Rohan angry with her? It was he who should feel her wrath! How dare he touch her as he did, elicit the response from her he did, then cast her from him as if she raged with the pox?

Had she responded wrong? Her Norse blood ran hot in her veins, tempering her level-headed, well-bred upbringing. She was a passionate woman by nature. Apparently, she was passionate in this aspect as well.

Her frustration mounted. If she so disgusted him by her response, then mayhap he should not touch her so! Isabel smiled into the frigid night air.
Let him reap more of what he has sown.
To turn the screws tighter, Isabel leaned back into Rohan. Her aim was to frustrate him more, but the residual effect was that his body radiated warmth. The minute she pressed into him, his body stiffened. His anger at her radiated from him like a swarm of angry bees. She would never understand the ways of a man.

For long moments, Isabel contemplated what had happened, but fatigue crept over her, and soon the motion of the horse beneath her and the warm man reluctantly holding her against his chest lulled her into a deep sleep.

He heard the lookout call their approach long before he saw the high rise of Rossmoor. As they passed through the village, several people came to watch Rohan with their lady in hand thunder through the streets and up to the manor. Even after he came to an abrupt halt and tossed the reins to Hugh, Isabel continued to sleep soundly against his chest. Carefully, so as not to awaken her, he slid from the saddle with her in his arms and strode into the great hall. Rohan scowled when his men looked up from their tankards of ale. Several glanced at the burden in his arms and smirked. He could read their thoughts as easily as if they had spoken them out loud. They thought he was besotted by the maid. They were wrong. Yea, he wanted her, he would not argue that fact, but more than that, Isabel symbolized what they all desired. A titled, landed lady. She was England, and to possess her meant he would possess what she possessed. It occurred to him at that moment that he wanted the same respect from her people as they so freely gave her.

He would make a worthy lord. And with a damsel such as Isabel as his lady, his legacy would begin. A’isha’s words haunted him. He must kill the kin of the woman who would bear his only sons. He looked down into the sleeping face. Aye, that part of the prophecy was true. And she would never forgive him for it. Regardless of the circumstances.

Rohan strode past his gaping men and up the wide stairway, where he was met by Enid. She followed him into his chamber. Gently, he laid Isabel down on the large bed. “See to your lady.” He turned then and descended back into the hall, where he was met with grins and shaking heads.

Thorin thrust a well-filled tankard into his hand. Rohan drank deeply of the robust ale. He poured himself another. Before he sat down at the table, he looked over to where Manhku slept peacefully. Rohan scowled. Another troubled soul saved by the lady Isabel. He had no doubt someone would soon nominate her for sainthood.

With gusto, Rohan sat down to the full trencher Lyn set before him and ate. Stefan, already dining, sat across the table from him.

“Stefan tells us you and the lady stopped along the way for a bit of a tryst,” Rorick prodded.

Rohan scowled and stared down the younger man. “Did he now?”

Stefan grinned and chewed a chunk of venison. “Aye, do you think I didn’t turn and have a look?”

Thorin slapped the younger man on the back. “A voyeur at heart, are you, lad?”

Stefan tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it into the rich broth the meat stewed in. He chewed thoughtfully and shook his head. “Nay, I prefer to indulge, not watch. But with the way Rohan flutters about the lady Isabel, watching is all we will get, eh, Rohan? Methinks you are not wont to share that one.”

Rohan eyed his men. They all watched him raptly for his response. He dipped a piece of bread into the stew, then chewed it slowly. He swallowed and followed it with a long draught of ale. Rohan chose his words carefully. He would not have it said that he had grown soft on a woman. Because a man who was led by his cock was not worthy to lead. “I admit the lady has caught my attention. But trust me, men, when I tell you, ’tis only the thrill of the hunt that intrigues me. Once I have snared the wench, if she will have any of you louts, you are free to pursue her.”

Thorin scowled. He set his foot upon the bench across the table from Rohan and rested a brawny arm on his knee. He stared keenly at the younger man. “Isabel is a gentle-born lady, Rohan. In her veins flows the finest blood in Saxony, Norway, and even Normandy. You would do well to leave her be. Sully her, and you wouldst do us all a dishonor.”

Rohan choked on his meat at Thorin’s words. Rorick pounded him on the back. Rohan caught his breath and took a deep drink of his ale. Finally, through watery eyes, he said, “What say you? That from a man who leaves a trail of maidenheads from Norway to Constantinople and back to England?”

Thorin scowled. “We do not speak of my misdeeds, Rohan, but the prevention of one here. Find another maid to slake your lust. Leave the lady Isabel intact.”

Rohan slammed the tankard down on the table, the force shattering it into several pieces. “I have had enough of your fatherly advice. Stefan will give you the details of our travels this eve. Prepare to depart at first light with several carts to retrieve the wayward churls.”

Rohan stepped away from the table and stiffly bowed to his men. “Good eventide, men. May your cold pallets serve you well this frigid night.” He turned then and strode angrily up the stairway and into his chamber. He slammed the door shut. The action startled Isabel awake.

Wide-eyed, her red lips parted, and her sunburst-colored hair swirling around her, the wild sight of her warmed his blood. He stepped closer and began to discard the trappings of his trade. He noticed a covered trencher of food beside the bed on a table, and a large cauldron of water steamed over the roaring fire with a stack of clean linens sitting nearby. Hugh knew he never slept with the day’s grime clinging to him.

“’Tis only I, Isabel. Go back to sleep,” Rohan urged.

He scowled when she shook her head and slipped from the great bed. “I need to change my clothes and bathe. The stench of the dying clings to me.” She moved toward the door but turned to him. “May I go to my chamber?”

Having removed his surcoat and hauberk, Rohan moved toward her. “I am not like Warner. I shall accompany you.”

Anger flared in her eyes, but Isabel refrained from arguing. After she retrieved fresh clothing, she turned to him and quirked a brow. “I would like my privacy to bathe and change.”

“Nay, you forfeited all rights to your privacy when you tricked Warner today. You will be shadowed as closely as a hawk shadows his next meal.”

Isabel stalked haughtily past him and back to the lord’s chamber. As if he were not present, she set about ladling the hot water from the cauldron into a deep bowl. She poured cool water from the pitcher to temper it. With linen in hand, she turned to Rohan, who stood quietly contemplating her. Even in her disheveled state, she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever laid eyes on. He narrowed his eyes as the thought passed through him. Aye, and while she was a natural beauty, it was her steel belly that attracted him to her most.

His gaze broke from hers and slowly slid down to her full breasts. He smiled when she stiffened. His gaze traveled lower to her slender waist, then rested on her belly. Aye, while she was a slip of a girl, her hips flared with enough space to bear many lusty sons. His gaze traveled back up to meet her glacial stare. His smile widened. Her frown deepened.

Reluctantly, Rohan broke his gaze from hers. “See to yourself first, Isabel. I will bathe at my leisure.” His leisure, Isabel soon discovered, was in her father’s great chair, drinking ale as he watched her disrobe and wash by the firelight. It could not be helped. There was no place for her to hide from his eyes. So she stood tall and proud before him, daring him with her eyes to touch her.

When she pressed the damp linen to her breasts, she closed her eyes. The pressure of her own hand while under his watchful eyes flustered her. Her nipples hardened, and when she drew the cloth away, Rohan cursed under his breath. He threw the cup into the fire and stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

His actions startled her, and yet she felt as if with his departure, the warmth had left the room. Shivering, Isabel completed her bath and slid a clean shift over her head, then slipped between the linens and furs on the bed.

Rohan was glad to see his men had bedded down for the night. Save for a few torches, the hall light had dimmed considerably. He stalked to where Manhku lay sleeping by the great hearth. Feeling as restless as a lone wolf, he began to pace before the fire. “God’s blood!” he cursed, slamming a fist into his open hand. Did the woman not know the effect she had on a man? How could she expect him to sit passively by like a limp rag? And how could she demand such a thing? She had given her oath to him! He was entitled to her body. By her own words, she gave permission.

Then why was he down here with his men and not up there in the lord’s bed taking what was his right to take?

Rohan scowled down at Thorin, who snored not far from where Manhku slept. The older man’s righteous songs of chivalry fell on deaf ears. There were no rules in war. Survival of the fittest had always been his motto. Had it not been, he would have perished in that hellhole in Iberia.

Resolute, Rohan turned on his heel and took the stairs three at a time back to the torture chamber.

He pushed the door open with more force than necessary. His eyes scanned the room for the maid. When it appeared she had disappeared, he rushed toward the bed. He stopped in his tracks. So great was the bed and so small was she, he could barely see her form nestled deep beneath the furs. But her golden hair spilling out like a halo around her head and shoulders on the pillows gave her away.

Heat rose in his groin. Rohan bolted the door, then shucked his clothes and cleaned himself quickly. Before he slipped naked beside the maid, he threw more logs onto the fire. It flared with renewed heat, much as his cock did.

Isabel made a valiant effort to keep her breathing and her heartbeat at a regular pace. When Rohan returned to the chamber, her heart jumped so high in her throat at his abrupt entry she nearly choked to death. She prayed he would not press her. So she feigned sleep. She thought the battle won. For when he came to bed, he did not come near her. He lay rigid on the far side of the bed. His actions once again confused her. Did she repulse him so much?

Rohan turned onto his side. She could feel his stare burning into her.

“I know you do not sleep, Isabel,” he softly said.

Her eyelids fluttered in her attempt to continue her ruse. He moved closer. Now she could feel the heat of his body caress hers. Isabel continued to breathe as evenly as she could. Rohan pulled the furs and sheets down from where she had pulled them up to her neck.

Isabel felt the quiver of her breasts and knew, unless he was blind, he witnessed it. He pressed a fingertip to her left nipple. Instantly, it pebbled. Rohan moved closer still. Now she felt the soft rush of his breath on her cheek.

“You cannot run away from your own oath, damsel.” He replaced his finger with his lips. Isabel stiffened and closed her eyes tighter. The urge to press his head tighter to her chest caused Isabel’s resolve to galvanize. Her back stiffened so tightly she thought she would snap in half.

Rohan’s lips traveled from her heavy breast up to her throat. He pressed his lips to the thick vein there. She could feel the pulse of it against his touch. “What happened to the firebrand in my saddle?” he whispered against her skin. Shivers of delight coursed across every inch of her. She squeezed her eyes tighter. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out in pained pleasure.