The Rose Red Bride JK2 (33 page)

He stood still with an effort, and watched her shed her garb with frustrating leisure.

She unfastened the lace at one side of her kirtle, taking a cursed amount of time to ease it free. She spared him a smile, then unfastened the one on the opposite side, tugging the lace from each eyelet with tantalizing deliberation. When the kirtle was loosed, she lifted the hem in slow increments, revealing the shadow of her ankles through her chemise, then her finely curved calves.

The woman was fairly wrought to tempt him, of this Erik was certain. He clenched his fists and watched.

After easing the garment ever higher with frustrating slowness, finally, Vivienne lifted the green kirtle over her head and cast it aside. Erik could see her rosy nipples through the fine linen of her chemise, as well as their pert peaks, and the auburn shadow of the hair at the top of her thighs. Her curves were no more than tempting shadows spied through the cloth.

Erik made to unlace his own jerkin, but Vivienne seized his hands to halt him. “Let me,” she whispered, her eyes dark with a desire that weakened his knees. She kissed his knuckles, each one in turn, lavishing attention upon them with her soft lips. She planted a kiss on each of his palms, her tongue flicking against his skin unexpectedly.

“Vivienne,” he fairly growled, but she did not hasten. Indeed, the tip of her tongue darted between his fingers and he caught his breath at the vigor of his response.

Perhaps she did come from a lineage of sorcerers, for his desire for her seemed never to be sated. Indeed, it only grew more potent each time they met abed, only grew stronger with each taste.

Vivienne smiled and stepped away from him, then worked the lace of her chemise loose with that same deliberation. Erik swallowed, transfixed as every increment of soft flesh was revealed. She unfastened the myriad buttons on the sleeves with painfully slowness. The chemise finally fell to the floor in its turn, piling around her ankles like a cloud beneath an angel’s feet.

Vivienne stepped gracefully out of the cloth, then shook it out, hanging it upon a hook with more care than he thought the matter deserved. She had to reach for that hook, though, stretching out one leg behind herself and pointing one toe. He admired the curve of her buttocks and the graceful line of her back. He thought momentarily about seizing her about her narrow waist and ending this torment, but then she cast him such a smile that he abandoned the notion.

She was savoring this seduction and he was not enough of a cur to deny it to her.

Vivienne retrieved her kirtle and cloak, hanging them in their turn and offering him such a lingering view of her buttocks that Erik guessed that she felt the weight of his gaze upon her. He admired the smooth strength of her legs, as his desire for her was urged to fever pitch.

She granted him a coy smile as she began to loose her hair. She stood before him, clad only in her stockings, garters and boots, and untied the lace at the end of her braid. As usual, the braid held but a third of her hair captive in truth, the rest having escaped its bonds earlier to curl around her face.

He could not help but admire her, and did not try to hide his awe of her beauty. Vivienne’s smile broadened, and for once, Erik did not mind that his thoughts could be so readily discerned by another. Vivienne leaned her head back and shook out her hair, her eyes closed, and he watched hungrily.

He leaned forward and planted a kiss in the hollow of her throat. She gasped and he claimed her mouth in a possessive kiss, his hand curving around the back of her waist. When he raised his hand to cup her face, her pulse skipped beneath his hand in a most enticing manner.

He released her and stepped back, well content to have put that flush upon her cheeks and that sparkle in her eyes.

Indeed, these unfamiliar chausses showed themselves to have a marked disadvantage over his customary garb. There was little room within them for his enthusiastic response to Vivienne and he yearned anew for the comfort of his loose chemise and belted length of tartan.

Vivienne reached for the lace of his jerkin then. She spared him a glance through her lashes, her smile provocative. She was flushed, though, more maidenly than she would probably would have preferred, though Erik found the contrast most alluring.

She worked the lace loose, one hole at a time, then pulled it free and cast it aside. She slid her hands beneath the boiled leather shell, fanning her fingers as she ran her hands over his chest. He ducked his head, unable to resist the chance to kiss her, but she evaded his lips and kissed the hollow of his throat instead.

The jerkin was followed by his chemise, which was worked loose in teasing increments. She playfully pushed him on to the bed then, and straddled one of his legs as she tugged off his boot. Her buttocks were on his thigh, the ripe curve of her hips tempting his hands. He caught her around the waist and pulled her back into his lap, stealing another thorough kiss before she escaped his embrace once more.

She was breathless when she rapped him on the nose with a scolding fingertip, and her eyes glittered. “You are to be seduced, not to do the seducing,” she said.

“But I am seduced already,” he argued. “Your quest is complete.”

“It has only just begun,” she retorted, then squirmed in his lap so that she could not have missed the sign of his enthusiasm. She got to her feet again though, and straddled his other leg, her hands locking on his second boot.

Once again, Erik did not obey instructions. He caught her around the waist, liking that his hands fairly locked around her, and the roll of the ship worked in his favor. Vivienne tumbled into his lap. Erik caught her nape in his hand and kept his other arm locked around her waist as he kissed her fully. She arched against him, her tongue dancing with his, her fingers spearing into his hair as they rolled across the bed together.

He loved that she was not shy, that she did not withhold her passion from him. He loved that she responded so ardently to his caress, that she clearly savored their lovemaking as much as he.

Vivienne’s eyes sparkled with laughter when she broke their kiss. She sprawled atop Erik, her hands braced upon his shoulders. “What a soft bed,” she murmured. “We shall sleep well here.”

“We may not sleep at all,” Erik replied, then rolled her beneath him. He kissed her fully once more, and she was quick to respond to his caress. She was flushed and smiling when he lifted his head, though still she shook a finger at him.

“You were not to do anything,” she protested.

Erik tugged off one of her boots then claimed her ankle, locking one hand around it. He bent to untie her garters with his teeth. Vivienne gasped when his thumb moved in a slow circle against her ankle bone and she moaned with pleasure when he kissed behind her knees. It took some time to be rid of both of her garters and stockings, though the lady did not complain.

He had only a heartbeat’s warning, a mere glimpse of the mischief dancing in her eyes, before she bent to untie the lace of his chausses with her teeth. He feared then that he would tear the cloth, that the chausses from the Earl of Sutherland would not be able to contain him. That Vivienne caressed him though the cloth, teasing him with her fingertips, nigh drove him mad with desire.

He laid back and grit his teeth, letting her do what she would so that he could surprise her when she was done. She tormented him, echoing his gesture by kissing behind his knees as she eased the chausses away. No sooner were they dispatched to the floor than Erik reached for her, but she was already upon her feet.

She opened the drawer beneath the bed, biting her lip in an endearing expression of concentration as she looked through the drawer’s contents. She wrinkled her nose at the label on the first bottle she lifted, put it back and lifted out another. She removed the stopper and the chamber smelled of roses in bloom. Vivienne poured a healthy quantity of the scent into the steaming water and Erik protested.

“I shall smell as if I have been to a brothel!”

“Who shall smell you, save me?”

“Ruari, for one.”

“But he of all men will know that you could not have been to a brothel.” She plunged the sponge into the water, then wrung it out, granting Erik a fine view of those buttocks once again. “And he of all men knows your need for a son. Will he not think the scent of roses a small price to pay?” She propped a hand on her hip as she regarded him and the light of the lanterns turned her flesh to the hue of a sunrise. “After all, it smells finer than either of us do already.”

“That is true enough.”

“And do you truly care what Ruari thinks of your deeds this day?”

Erik had to admit that he did not. He had no need to say as much, for his thoughts were not so secret now that his chausses were shed.

Vivienne’s eyes gleamed with purpose, then she returned to kneel on the bed. She ran the sponge down his chest, making a dripping course of warm water, then caressed his erection with it. It was soft and tickled slightly, her fingers were warm, her stroke resolute. Erik pulled away, certain he would spill his seed too soon.

“Do you not wish to be washed?” she asked.

“I could do it more quickly myself,” he said, hearing the strain in his voice. She closed her hand around him, even with the sponge, and moved up and down the length of him. Erik was certain he would not be able to endure much of this attention.

Then Vivienne leaned over him, her hair spilling around him, and kissed his jaw. She touched him with increasing surety, kissing him finally on the earlobe. “You pleased me there with your tongue,” she whispered into his ear. “Time ‘tis for me to return pleasure in kind.”

Before he could protest, she had slid down his chest and pressed her lips to his erection. Erik fell back on the bed and groaned aloud as he realized he would be unable to halt her amorous assault.

It was then that Vivienne truly began to torment him with pleasure, Erik did not want to compel her to stop. She met him with a wild abandon new to her, committing herself to their passion with new vigor. He was beguiled, he was enchanted, he was lost in her allure.

He succumbed to the moment, powerless to do otherwise.

* * *

It was long before they slumbered, sated, their limbs entwined. Erik felt a tremendous languor and his eyes drifted closed of their own accord. He pulled the furs over them both, welcoming Vivienne’s soft heat against his side.

She nestled closer and placed her lips against Erik’s ear. He thought that she meant to kiss him and he smiled despite himself at the prospect.

“I love you,” she murmured instead. She spoke so sleepily that she might have been unaware that the words had crossed her lips.

But Erik’s eyes flew open and sleep proved impossible for him after that. He looked at her, incredulous, but she drifted into sleep. He frowned at the timbered walls of the cabin, listening to the rain and the echo of those three words in his thoughts.

Did Vivienne lie to further ensnare him?

Or did he owe this lady far more than he had offered her thus far? Erik could not be certain, though the question plagued him all the night long.

With three murmured words, Vivienne had changed all.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Something was amiss.

Vivienne did not know what it was, but she awakened alone in that chamber on the morning afterward. She climbed to the deck that first morning in search of Erik, and found the ship surrounded by dense white fog. The sails hung damply from the masts and the sea was as still as a mirror. A sailor rang a bell at steady intervals, clearly at Rosamunde’s command, but there was not so much as a breath of wind, let alone any hint of another soul.

They might have sailed off the edge of the world. Worse, Erik seemed determined to avoid her. Each time she reached his side, he departed with haste, barely sparing her a glance.

Erik appeared to take pains to avoid Vivienne, which was no small feat on a ship of this size. She felt bereft without his touch, without the merest sign of affection from him, and she wondered at the import of his manner.

What had she done?

Vivienne feared that the change in his manner had less to do with her and more to do with the prospect of his returning home. Doubtless the memory of Beatrice was stronger for him. Vivienne imagined that Erik turned away because he refused to taint the love he had pledged to the mother of his two beloved daughters.

This was not the reward granted to the stalwart lover in all the tales that Vivienne knew! They had made a handfast and she, for one, did not intend to forget as much.

Rosamunde shrugged off the weather and the sailors seemed to take it in stride. By the second day, several of the seamen were muttering, and by the third, there was a distinct hum of discontent.

The weather did not stir, and Erik took to pacing the deck. Doubtless, he was anxious to see matters resolved at Blackleith.

Worse, Rosamunde could not find her lodestone, though she swore that she always kept it in the same locale. None of the men on the ship confessed to moving it, and Rosamunde hunted for it in increasingly foul temper.

She found it, on the fifth day, precisely where it should have been all along.

The lodestone, though, was useless. It seemed charmed. Vivienne watched in amazement as Rosamunde held it aloft and it spun ceaselessly in a circle. The stone was unable to find true north.

The sailors began to whisper of sorcery and, for once, Ruari held his tongue. Erik paced with greater vigor, his uneven stride echoing through the deck long into the night.

No sooner had the lodestone been found than Rosamunde could not find her ledger. Unwilling to rely upon the observations of other seaman, she had made a compilation of her own considerable experience, noting the direction of winds in certain locales and sketching the shape of the land. She had journeyed often between Ravensmuir and Sicily, and the ledger contained the sum of her own observations, the better that she might orient herself after a storm such as the one they had experienced.